Living with Diabetes
by Robin Davies

It was a hot summer day in late July 1996. I sat nervously waiting in my doctor's small, cramped office, waiting for the results of some blood tests. I had seen him a few days prior, complaining of fatigue, excessive thirst, blurred vision, frequent urination and extreme mood swings.

While waiting in his office, I tried to convince myself that the symptoms from which I was suffering for the past two years were probably in my imagination. They were most likely stress related; after all, I had been working long hours and did not have much time to relax and unwind. I was afraid. I did not want to find out that I was sick. I was not sure that I had the courage to face a serious health issue.

The doctor entered the office, pausing for a moment at the entry, reviewed the file and then announced, "You are a type II diabetic." Just like that, without hesitation or any apprehension. My head began ringing as the doctor explained the meaning of what diabetes is and what type II meant. I wanted to bolt from his office screaming. I wanted to throw a tantrum, rip all the degrees from his office walls and shout at him, "You're a quack! You‚re wrong!" But instead, I sat there numb, mute, and meekly cried.

The doctor advised me that type II diabetes is prevalent in the Latino, Indian and African American communities, that most brown people go undiagnosed or, if diagnosed, do not properly manage their long-term health care. He explained that if untreated, the eventual aliments can lead to blindness, kidney failure, heart failure , skin disorders , serve neuropathy and amputation of the hands and feet. I knew what the doctor described was true. Both of my grandmothers had diabetes. I witnessed their health decline due to those very complications. The disease led them through a minefield of suffering and subsequent death. One abuela experienced the misery of neuropathy, losing the use of her left leg, which was eventually amputated, and she later lost sight in one eye. My other grandmother's torment was with kidney deterioration leading to dialysis, followed by a series of urinary tract infections, then high blood pressure. Each affliction, every treatment and hospitalization they endured chipped away at their spirits, casting a heavy shadow which broke them in the end.

As the doctor continued to talk, my consciousness floated in and out of time. His voice became a hazy background buzz as I remembered my grandmothers prior to their diagnosis and subsequent worsening. Both were beautiful, strong, organized, loving, gentle powerful women. Their spirits were filled with a zest for life that knew no boundaries. They planned family parties, community events, counseled friends did everything for their families. But in reality, their lack of careful management with this illness compromised that passion. With this truth in mind, I was jarred back to that cramped office, my posture slummed, and my spirit hopeless. I thought to myself that I did not stand a chance in a battle with this chronic disease. I knew my death was going to be lonely, slow and painful. For weeks I was depressed and ashamed. I agonized with the idea that I was the cause of this illness. After all, I was your typical profile of a type II diabetic: overweight and inactive. I isolated myself, did not want to tell anyone. I thought my friends and family would laugh and scorn me, confirming this was my fault. So I secluded myself and wallowed in self-pity, going to work, gorging myself, sleeping improperly and resisting physical activity. I was doing all the things that would send my blood sugar soaring and make me sick. The truth be known, I was doing this because I was afraid of changing my lifestyle.

This overwhelming fear consumed me. I did not know who or what I would be if I changed. Where it would lead? Intellectually, I knew that type II diabetes could be controlled by diet and oral medications. I knew the long-term complications need not transpire if I made some major lifestyle changes. But I was comfortable with being uncomfortable, and as difficult as that feeling was to fathom or explain, it was familiar.

More months went by and I continued along the same way, convincing myself I was taking care. After all, I was intermittently taking my medication and reading literature. It was only when I began experiencing tingling in my hands and feet like hundreds of needles connected to an electrical device that I halfheartedly sought my doctor's care. I made an appointment and of course lied about my health care management when asked. I could tell he knew, but he didn‚t embarrass me he prescribed a different medication and reminded me that there were many avenues available to me for support. On my way home, I thought about how much I love life and all of the simple and complex things it has to offer. Then I asked myself a hard question: why am I killing myself? I thought about how I have transposed other emotional hurts into reasons for poor management of this illness. Why was that? Why am I using these emotional wounds to cover up for my lack of self-love?

I began to get clear-if I do love life, the quality in which I live is dependent on me changing. I could not do this on my own. I really needed to get help. I knew by not telling others I truly was alone and isolated. I knew, intuitively knew, on what an illness thrives-fear, depression and loneliness. I needed to change. I needed to become proactive in my life.

It has now been five years since my diagnosis and I have over the years begun to change. The biggest step was opening up and telling those that I love that I was diabetic. In turn their love and support has been a major motivation in the fight for living a life of quality. I have attended support groups to continue to educate myself and learn a new level of self- acceptance.

In the groups, I have met many courageous men and women living with diabetes that have suffered some of the long-term ailments but still live on. From them, I have learned to recognize the red flags of how other personal issues factored into the lack of attention with my long-term management. The breakup of a relationship is no excuse to stop caring for myself; if anything, it is a reason to pay attention even more.

The toughest hurdle has been the physical. I have never really been a type of person to workout, but I love to dance. After all, dance is the highest physical form of expression of the soul's joy. I started dancing three to four nights a week in classes, clubs and my kitchen. I brought up my metabolism and lost weight, which was reflected in my regular blood sugar tests. In August of this year I joined a gym because I know my muscles need to become stronger in my long-term battle with diabetes.

My perspective of being a diabetic is different-it is one based on gratitude. Diabetes has led me out of a lonely existence. I know now deep in my heart that whatever I do in life, I do not have to bear it alone. It has helped me develop a strong network of support. I regularly counsel with a dietitian who teaches me how to prepare my favorite foods with ingredient modifications and what type of foods to order when dining out. I have my good days and bad days and do not know what the future holds, but I do know that since my diagnosis, my life has become enriched. I am now able to welcome change and ask for help, but most importantly, receive it.

For More Information About Diabetes Contact:
American Diabetes Association, 1701 North Beauregard Street, Alexandria, Virginia 22311 Phone: 703/549-1500 or toll free 1-800-DIABETES (1-800-342-2383) www.diabetes.org
International Diabetes Federation, International Association Center, 40 Washington Street, B-1050, Brussels, Belgium Phone: 32-2/647 44 14
National Diabetes Information Clearinghouse, 805 15th Street, NW, Room #500, Washington, DC 20005
American Dietetic Association, 430 N. Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611 Phone: 800/877-1600
Joslin Diabetes Center, One Joslin Place, Boston, Massachusetts 02115 Phone: 617/732-2440 www.joslin.harvard.edu
National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney Diseases, NIH, 31 Center Drive, MSC 2560, Bethesda, MD 20892-2560, USA www.niddk.nih.gov

For Information About Juvenile/Children's Diabetes:
National Headquarters: Juvenile Diabetes Foundation, 432 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10016-8013 Phone: 212/889-7575
Greater Bay Area Chapter: Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation 121 Second St., 2nd Floor, San Francisco, CA 94105 Phone: (415) 977-0360 www.jdf-sfbay.org  

 

Robin Davies is a freelance writer based in the Bay Area. For the past seven years she has traveled extensively throughout the Americas in an effort to preserve and document cultural rituals, customs, arts, music and the socials issues of the times.

©2001 by Robin Davies
©2001 by San Francisco/Bay Area Salsa & Latin Jazz
All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission

Living with Diabetes
by Robin Davies

It was a hot summer day in late July 1996. I sat nervously waiting in my doctor's small, cramped office, waiting for the results of some blood tests. I had seen him a few days prior, complaining of fatigue, excessive thirst, blurred vision, frequent urination and extreme mood swings.

While waiting in his office, I tried to convince myself that the symptoms from which I was suffering for the past two years were probably in my imagination. They were most likely stress related; after all, I had been working long hours and did not have much time to relax and unwind. I was afraid. I did not want to find out that I was sick. I was not sure that I had the courage to face a serious health issue.

The doctor entered the office, pausing for a moment at the entry, reviewed the file and then announced, "You are a type II diabetic." Just like that, without hesitation or any apprehension. My head began ringing as the doctor explained the meaning of what diabetes is and what type II meant. I wanted to bolt from his office screaming. I wanted to throw a tantrum, rip all the degrees from his office walls and shout at him, "You're a quack! You‚re wrong!" But instead, I sat there numb, mute, and meekly cried.

The doctor advised me that type II diabetes is prevalent in the Latino, Indian and African American communities, that most brown people go undiagnosed or, if diagnosed, do not properly manage their long-term health care. He explained that if untreated, the eventual aliments can lead to blindness, kidney failure, heart failure , skin disorders , serve neuropathy and amputation of the hands and feet. I knew what the doctor described was true. Both of my grandmothers had diabetes. I witnessed their health decline due to those very complications. The disease led them through a minefield of suffering and subsequent death. One abuela experienced the misery of neuropathy, losing the use of her left leg, which was eventually amputated, and she later lost sight in one eye. My other grandmother's torment was with kidney deterioration leading to dialysis, followed by a series of urinary tract infections, then high blood pressure. Each affliction, every treatment and hospitalization they endured chipped away at their spirits, casting a heavy shadow which broke them in the end.

As the doctor continued to talk, my consciousness floated in and out of time. His voice became a hazy background buzz as I remembered my grandmothers prior to their diagnosis and subsequent worsening. Both were beautiful, strong, organized, loving, gentle powerful women. Their spirits were filled with a zest for life that knew no boundaries. They planned family parties, community events, counseled friends did everything for their families. But in reality, their lack of careful management with this illness compromised that passion. With this truth in mind, I was jarred back to that cramped office, my posture slummed, and my spirit hopeless. I thought to myself that I did not stand a chance in a battle with this chronic disease. I knew my death was going to be lonely, slow and painful. For weeks I was depressed and ashamed. I agonized with the idea that I was the cause of this illness. After all, I was your typical profile of a type II diabetic: overweight and inactive. I isolated myself, did not want to tell anyone. I thought my friends and family would laugh and scorn me, confirming this was my fault. So I secluded myself and wallowed in self-pity, going to work, gorging myself, sleeping improperly and resisting physical activity. I was doing all the things that would send my blood sugar soaring and make me sick. The truth be known, I was doing this because I was afraid of changing my lifestyle.

This overwhelming fear consumed me. I did not know who or what I would be if I changed. Where it would lead? Intellectually, I knew that type II diabetes could be controlled by diet and oral medications. I knew the long-term complications need not transpire if I made some major lifestyle changes. But I was comfortable with being uncomfortable, and as difficult as that feeling was to fathom or explain, it was familiar.

More months went by and I continued along the same way, convincing myself I was taking care. After all, I was intermittently taking my medication and reading literature. It was only when I began experiencing tingling in my hands and feet like hundreds of needles connected to an electrical device that I halfheartedly sought my doctor's care. I made an appointment and of course lied about my health care management when asked. I could tell he knew, but he didn‚t embarrass me he prescribed a different medication and reminded me that there were many avenues available to me for support. On my way home, I thought about how much I love life and all of the simple and complex things it has to offer. Then I asked myself a hard question: why am I killing myself? I thought about how I have transposed other emotional hurts into reasons for poor management of this illness. Why was that? Why am I using these emotional wounds to cover up for my lack of self-love?

I began to get clear-if I do love life, the quality in which I live is dependent on me changing. I could not do this on my own. I really needed to get help. I knew by not telling others I truly was alone and isolated. I knew, intuitively knew, on what an illness thrives-fear, depression and loneliness. I needed to change. I needed to become proactive in my life.

It has now been five years since my diagnosis and I have over the years begun to change. The biggest step was opening up and telling those that I love that I was diabetic. In turn their love and support has been a major motivation in the fight for living a life of quality. I have attended support groups to continue to educate myself and learn a new level of self- acceptance.

In the groups, I have met many courageous men and women living with diabetes that have suffered some of the long-term ailments but still live on. From them, I have learned to recognize the red flags of how other personal issues factored into the lack of attention with my long-term management. The breakup of a relationship is no excuse to stop caring for myself; if anything, it is a reason to pay attention even more.

The toughest hurdle has been the physical. I have never really been a type of person to workout, but I love to dance. After all, dance is the highest physical form of expression of the soul's joy. I started dancing three to four nights a week in classes, clubs and my kitchen. I brought up my metabolism and lost weight, which was reflected in my regular blood sugar tests. In August of this year I joined a gym because I know my muscles need to become stronger in my long-term battle with diabetes.

My perspective of being a diabetic is different-it is one based on gratitude. Diabetes has led me out of a lonely existence. I know now deep in my heart that whatever I do in life, I do not have to bear it alone. It has helped me develop a strong network of support. I regularly counsel with a dietitian who teaches me how to prepare my favorite foods with ingredient modifications and what type of foods to order when dining out. I have my good days and bad days and do not know what the future holds, but I do know that since my diagnosis, my life has become enriched. I am now able to welcome change and ask for help, but most importantly, receive it.

For More Information About Diabetes Contact:
American Diabetes Association, 1701 North Beauregard Street, Alexandria, Virginia 22311 Phone: 703/549-1500 or toll free 1-800-DIABETES (1-800-342-2383) www.diabetes.org
International Diabetes Federation, International Association Center, 40 Washington Street, B-1050, Brussels, Belgium Phone: 32-2/647 44 14
National Diabetes Information Clearinghouse, 805 15th Street, NW, Room #500, Washington, DC 20005
American Dietetic Association, 430 N. Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611 Phone: 800/877-1600
Joslin Diabetes Center, One Joslin Place, Boston, Massachusetts 02115 Phone: 617/732-2440 www.joslin.harvard.edu
National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney Diseases, NIH, 31 Center Drive, MSC 2560, Bethesda, MD 20892-2560, USA www.niddk.nih.gov

For Information About Juvenile/Children's Diabetes:
National Headquarters: Juvenile Diabetes Foundation, 432 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10016-8013 Phone: 212/889-7575
Greater Bay Area Chapter: Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation 121 Second St., 2nd Floor, San Francisco, CA 94105 Phone: (415) 977-0360 www.jdf-sfbay.org  

 

Robin Davies is a freelance writer based in the Bay Area. For the past seven years she has traveled extensively throughout the Americas in an effort to preserve and document cultural rituals, customs, arts, music and the socials issues of the times.

©2001 by Robin Davies
©2001 by San Francisco/Bay Area Salsa & Latin Jazz
All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission