makbernardo87
Banned
- Relationship to Diabetes
- Type 1
During the summer of 2000 I was in Puerto Rico at a family reunion. We were relaxing by the beach when suddenly I had to go to the bathroom. Five minutes later I had to go again. I thought it was all the water I was drinking, so I cut back. Still, the frequent trips to the bathroom continued. When I had two "accidents," I realized that something was wrong. I mean, at age 12 these things don't happen.
We called the doctor's office and they said it was probably just a urinary tract infection. I was given some antibiotics. Unfortunately, the medication had no effect. We cut our trip short and returned home. On the flight back, we had to ask for a seat close to the bathroom because my trips were increasing in frequency.
As soon as our plane landed, we headed to my physician's office. They took a urine sample, and for once I had no trouble giving one. When they tested it, they found traces of sugar in it. The physician then told me she wanted to check my blood sugar. I was scared! My grandparents have diabetes, so I knew that meant a needle. The machine read "466." My doctor stepped out of the room and, when she returned, she told me I had to go to the hospital. They were waiting for me there. She pulled my mom aside. I realized that things were not going well.
That's how I ended up with an IV in my arm, wearing one of those revealing robes; pulled from paradise into a world of white with beeping noises and bad food. During my time in the hospital, my family and I were taught about diabetes and how to manage it. I had to learn what to eat and how to give myself shots. I even had to improve my math skills in order to count carbohydrates.
We called the doctor's office and they said it was probably just a urinary tract infection. I was given some antibiotics. Unfortunately, the medication had no effect. We cut our trip short and returned home. On the flight back, we had to ask for a seat close to the bathroom because my trips were increasing in frequency.
As soon as our plane landed, we headed to my physician's office. They took a urine sample, and for once I had no trouble giving one. When they tested it, they found traces of sugar in it. The physician then told me she wanted to check my blood sugar. I was scared! My grandparents have diabetes, so I knew that meant a needle. The machine read "466." My doctor stepped out of the room and, when she returned, she told me I had to go to the hospital. They were waiting for me there. She pulled my mom aside. I realized that things were not going well.
That's how I ended up with an IV in my arm, wearing one of those revealing robes; pulled from paradise into a world of white with beeping noises and bad food. During my time in the hospital, my family and I were taught about diabetes and how to manage it. I had to learn what to eat and how to give myself shots. I even had to improve my math skills in order to count carbohydrates.
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