My life is a journey. A journey that takes me to the highest peak and brings me crashing down. It is a journey that has many paths. A journey that is neither curved nor straight, a journey that is unbalanced. The following is a collection of stories that happened when I was in an unbalanced state.

I was never the type to openly admit I was different. Certain events in our life seem to change our way of thinking, our way of perceiving ourselves and of course, our way of treating ourselves. Events that give us an insight that we are all different. Our diversity is what makes us as beautiful and as unique as the next.

They say events occur in threes. Following are three events that changed my life and the way I treat and think of myself.

Event 1

The first event I can recall was while at university. Some friends and I decided to take a canoe trip down the Murrumbidgee river, just once outside Canberra, over the Easter long weekend. It was March 1993.

The last years of my adolescence were spent in total denial of my condition. My control wasnÕt great nut I knew the importance of having sugar with me. My knowledge of managing insulin injections when exercising and its true impact on blood sugar levels eluded me.

The river was up, the river was strong and the rapids were great (yes we even snapped the spine on one of the canoes). A number of times I felt low, responding quickly with some lollies and a muesli bar for energy replenishment. I thought I had pretty good control. Recognising lows and feeding myself when need be.

Three days of intense paddling, dodging rocks and swimming had taken its toll. As we approached our destination I was feeling fine, charged on natural hormones that kept my sugar level at a normal level. By the time we arrived and started loading up the cars I knew my sugar level was low. I responded with a space food stick and muesli bar. Assuming this was the right thing to do I left it at that. Our mission after we packed up was lunch. Queanbeyan Maccas was the agreed destination. In the car were the driver, five canoes and myself.

My sensory response changed once in the car, the world took on a whole new look. My body absorbed the last traces of energy from my system. One moment I was feeling fine, the next my vision blurred and images doubled. The yellow line along the centre of the road didnÕt seem like the centre any more as four to six lines crossed and overlapped one another like a laser display. I canÕt tell you what I was thinking at this stage but I knew I was Ōall rightÕ and the road linesman had screwed up. Arriving at Maccas I managed to get to the counter. Everyone had ordered their lunch and proceeded to go to an outside table, oblivious to my perils standing in line at the counter.

My low sugar level gave me a vague and blank appearance. My thought patterns were centred on the fact that I could not read the menu boards. Words and letters moved around in front of me like carnival lights on a high speed merry go round. I was unable to read the menu board, but I knew that I had been to Maccas enough times that I should be able to order without needing to read it. My brain centred on the fact that I should be able to say something at least as simple as ŌcokeÕ but even this proved to be too difficult.

What seemed like a very short time actually turned into at least 10 minutes of staring and swaying at the MaccaÕs attendant. I had a vague suspicion that the line behind my quickly vacated to the other queues like I was a walking spectacle of trouble I sometimes wonder what that girl would have been thinking looking into my eyes which had no life or energy in them, just a vague blank stare almost dead. My fiends realised that I had not returned from ordering and came searching for me. Just as the young girl called over the manager, my fiends arrived and took me outside. This part of the story gets a little vague. Later my fiends told me at this stage I was answering their questions but in the next instant I broke out into a sweat that would flood the Snowy River. I have no memory of this. At this point they realised something was wrong. I was slipping in and out of reality. With some quick thinking they took me to the hospital. An intravenous dextrose drip and a few hospital sandwiches later, I came off that roller coaster ride and landed on my feet safely.

The next hour my fiends proceeded to tell me of my perils, my struggle to walk from Maccas to the car, from the car to the hospital and lots of vague blank looks in between. I discovered the importance of insulin adjustment during exercise and energy replenishment after exercise.

Event 2

1993 at university proved to be too much for me. I needed a break. I listened to my heart and my heart said travel. Some friends of mine had similar ideas. My journey was to involve travelling by car around Oz. By January 1994 three of us had started on our adventure along the coast road of Australia. We would be travelling first through the South Coast of NSW, along Victoria and into South Oz and finally into WA.

The companions I travelled with were more than aware of my diabete4s but had never seen me in a serious condition. They had seen me in the classic stages of a low, but always when a self-administered sugar fix delayed me from entering into a non-coherent state. This was soon to create a challenge in an isolated part of the South Australian coastline, many miles from hospital help. Camping and surfing in the desert leaves one with a whole sense of being. We topped off wicked sun filled days with salmon and rice. This one particular night our meal contained mostly fish, as our rations were becoming scarce.

Carbohydrates were low and insulin was plentiful and the following morning was a disaster. The flat sandy landform where we pitched our tent suddenly seemed to be a very steep incline. Waking in the early hours to answer natures call proved too tough. Every time I tried to sit up, it felt like the heavy weight of gravity due to the incline pushed me back down on my back. I recall that I though "Gee, I donÕt remember pitching this ten t on a hill". Once morning hit I tried once again to raise my body from this steep incline, only to sway onto my travelling partner sleeping next to me. He awoke and helped me from the tent and into the car. At this point I knew I was having a hypo. Knowing that I had lollies in my pack, I told my friends the sugar was in the backpack in the boot of the car. What tumbled out of my mouth were slurred words in a non-coherent structure. Words dribbled like PavlovÕs salivating god: my body flopped like two-week-old flowers. I moulded into the shape of the front car seat like jelly. ItÕs funny that the body protects its most important organ when faced with a low. My brain was functioning perfectly but speech and muscle movement was impaired. I could hear my fiends say how screwed up I was and that they needed to take me to a doctor. The closest doctor was over 50 kms away. By the time I would have arrived I would have been in a coma. At this point I was trying my best to tell my friends I had lollies in my pack, what came out as slurred garbage that made no sense whatsoever. My arms waved frantically at each instance. I heard talk about driving me to a doctor. I was concerned with this suggested course of action, as I knew salvation was only a few lollies away. Finally salvation did arrive in the form of Sam the Toucan man and his packet of Fruit Loops. My thumbs went up in approval of such a sweet breakfast. No sooner had I shovelled that breakfast down; my speech started to make sense. I then told my friends that they had done the right thing in feeding me the Fruit Loops, and that if they had taken me to a doctor there is no doubt that I would have slipped into a coma. These events happened within a year of each other and drummed into me the fact that I needed to be more aware of insulin doses and carbohydrate intake, to take adequate precautions in such instances, and to have access to carbohydrates at all times. It increased my paranoia towards adequate carbohydrate intake. I told myself "This sort of thing will never happen again!" How wrong I wasÉÉ

Event 3 Š the Final Event

In the month of May of that same year our travels had taken us to the West Coast of Australia. There my friends left on their merry way and I was left to travel alone. Living down south and often travelling north to my relatives in Perth, I felt quite safe knowing I had full access to services if need be.

I called in upon a friend of my brother who lived approximately an hourÕs drive from Perth. She informed me that she was hoping to travel north up into the desert. I joined her, travelling in a very stylish blue HQ Holden sedan. We were heading some 12 hrs north of Perth. Our destination would be a beautiful coastal region approximately 150km to the nearest town, where the sun was plentiful, the water scarce and weÕd get a lot of red dust in our hair. This part of the country would give me a very memorable experience. I danced with the devil and became a target to be teased by the grim reaper.

Three of us were camped out. I ran into another friend whom I had met in the south. He asked a favour. Steve was working on a fishing trawler in the closest town and needed my assistance to drive his Kombi van from the campsite into town. As with all KombiÕs, this one had its own unique characteristic trait. It the van stalled one person would need to get underneath the car and tap the starter motor while the other turned the key. This particular morning I had been given the impression that I would drop my friend into town that night and return to the campsite in time for breakfast the following morning. We left that night after I had had my insulin shot (I was on two injections a day). I felt confident that the shot would last until I returned for breakfast in the morning.

The next morning, after driving into town the previous night my friends got caught up doing things preparing for their long fishing trip. This resulted in me not returning in time for breakfast and missing my morning injection. Due to my attitude towards my condition, I did not mention my problem. I felt as though I would inconvenience everyone if I mentioned the fact that I did not have my insulin. So I let it be. My hunger intensified as I tried to restrict my food intake. I caved in many times eating breakfast and lunch trying to satisfy my hunger. I did not understand the implication of eating carbohydrates and missing injections. So my concern for this diminished as the course of the day progressed. After my friend finally finished his chores I was able to drop him at the wharf and progress on my (high) way. Driving back to the campsite as the sun was setting, I was feeling thirsty and dehydrated. I had plenty of water, but had missed two injections and had eaten food. The track to the campsite was through an outback station, which farmed cattle and sheep. Every 10-20 kilometres or so there was a grid across the road. Approximately ten to fifteen kilometres from camp there was a gate. One gate. One gate on the whole property that spanned more than one hundred and fifty kilometres of desert region. I pulled over. The car idled. I jumped out, ran to the gate. Opened the fate. Ran to the car, jumped in. car stalls, I could only swear at this point. The sun had just disappeared. Night was settling in. I tried in vain to restart the car. I could not. I had missed two injections and eaten too much food. My blood was concentrated with too much sugar. So I sat down in the sand and looked at the stars. They were amazingly bright. Only isolation could bring on such a brilliant night display. Millions of starts beamed their astonishing radiance. I climbed into the car. I nibbled a little and drank a lot. I finally drifted into a light sleep. Feeling like every cell in my body was over-loaded, saturated. Urine was flowing regularly and my body needed constant water replenishment.

I was awoken by my bodyÕs alarm system. My abdomen started to convulse as I slipped out of the car into the sand. Heaving everything in my guts onto to ground before me. Vomiting until no more was left inside. I started to dry reach. Blood was flowing. Massive abdominal cramps rippled through my body. My nausea left me in the sand wishing to die, struggling and fighting with myself for self-preservation. The grim reaper was there. Watching and waiting, I could hear his laughter echoing in my head. F*** you reaper man! I wonÕt die. You wonÕt take my life. The dry reaching started again. I was lying in the sand holding onto my cramping gut. My breath was short and acidic. I realised something. I realised I would die here. I would die 15km from camp. I let it go. "it was ok to die, just let it go" this thought appeared in my head. As soon as I conceived this, that it would be ok to die, death released me of its torment. My life would be short but so far it had been fulfilling. It is ok to die. Once these thoughts arrived it opened my awareness. I relaxed and started to breathe deeper and longer. The convulsions and vomiting stopped. I saw the reaper walk away. His laughter subsided in my head. I fell asleep.

Waking the next day I felt like I had had fifty million beers the night before. I though about walking to the camp but thought better of it. Realising that if I passed out off the road no one would find me until it was too late. I stayed with the car. Lying in the shade of the van in the early hours of the day. No sight of anybody three hours after dawn, sixteen hours after the car stalled. Deliverance appeared in the form of whispering red dust flying up in the air on the horizon. I knew it to be car, which would come my way soon. I jumped on top of the van and waved my arms frantically. Only to realise it was veering from the road I was on to another. My hopes fell. Again my death seemed imminent. To my good fortune, at around 10 oÕclock the car I had seen earlier came back my way. Salvation was finally here. The guys in the car were from the neighbouring station. I told them of my car troubles (but not my internal troubles). We started the car and I proceeded to drive back to camp feeling quite of out of whack. On return to the camp I shot up some quick acting insulin and lay down to rest. I could not eat for the next 48 hours. Anything I tried to stomach would instantly return to my plate. At the time I was glad to be alive, but did not fully comprehend the seriousness of what had happened. Later, after reflecting on this event, I had the feeling that I had something to rejoice about. Being alive and healthy is a gift we often take for granted. I learned many lessons from this episode. My insulin and sugar bags follow me religiously now. On camping and travelling trips precautions in the form of preparation and organisation are high on the priority list.

I have also realised the body is a temple. A fragile temple. If you respect it, it will respect you. I no longer abuse my body as much as I used to (but still working on this one! No one is perfect). I am learning to honour my temple and to respect myself. I no longer live in the "poor me" syndrome or the "what have I done to deserve this". But I now look upon my diabetes as a blessing. My life may be short but I will try my best to fulfill my dreams and live a full life. Good luck with your journey. Every path is different and unique. Follow you dreams and donÕt let anybody tell you that you canÕt do something because of your diabetes. Love yourself. Love your friends. Love your life.

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