Raisins

1990-1991

It had been weeks of excessive thirst and loads of peeing. I questioned if addiction to water was "a thing".

Was it mono? High schoolers seemed almost proud to say they had the "kissing disease". You'd hear about those out of school due to mono as we chatted between classes during BIP enjoying a bag of chips, a giant baked cookie or those freshly made large cinnamon rolls for 25 cents. Now called a nutrition break; in the 90s we called it Break-In-Periods.

It wasn't mono. That spring day in 1990, I was diagnosed and admitted in an expedited fashion into the hospital, and surrounded in short order by family, newish beau, and my besties that came to the hospital. My identity now included juvenile diabetes or insulin-dependent diabetes or type 1 diabetes, whatever the f*#k you called it, my circumstance changed.

After four days in the hospital, I was sure I had all the information and knowledge to navigate this disease like the strong, smart, independent, competitive athlete I had been. I was that middle-class 17-year-old who got good grades, who was kind and loving to her parents, her siblings, and at times even her younger sister, who borrowed her clothes without asking. I went to football games on Friday with friends and watched movies on Saturday with my boyfriend.

The day I arrived home from the hospital, I was home alone. It was quiet, peaceful after days and nights of nurses poking me and machines beeping, rarely convenient. I chuckle sitting here 30 years later as my fingertips and tummy have layers of scar tissue from thousands of pricks and injections, and my medical devices still beep annoyingly.

My craving for raisins was astonishing. As much as I could find, I ate, which probably equated cups per day. I didn't eat them one or two at a time but handfuls. In the experience I had up to that point, I had little knowledge of how raisins did or didn't impact my body; all I knew was that I craved them, like a lot. I recall going to the kitchen and opening the box and enjoying raisins. I felt good when I ate raisins.

I took shots of insulin, measured food, pricked my finger, recorded the results or action; this occurred numerous times every day, according to the regimen my doctors and CDE determined was in my best interest. They told me if I was going to be ok, I had to stick to the regimen; literally, my quality of life going forward depended on it.

Any of you have a 17-year-old? How well does it work for you to tell them what they need? That's what I thought, few. And if you have one that does what you tell them always, at 17, I'd be curious what that looks like for them at 45.

Anywho...it was difficult for me to follow someone else's version of my needs...in a decisive moment, most I felt was important to me dropped in priority. My time, energy, and the focus shifted to managing this new diagnosis. It is a lot, living with diabetes.

My running was not even a consideration to try in the first several weeks after my diagnosis. Even the smallest endeavor required my blood sugar to be within a particular range, a snack consumed with appropriate timing, which matched any activity's metabolic needs. The food I ate last and the insulin I took that morning played a role. Many conditions now surrounded my simple sport that only expected shoes tied and a desire to go.

My healthcare team's new regimen held a lot of "you should do this" and "you need to" language. Each day I was right or wrong, good or bad, and  I passed or failed according to their measurement scale. It is a system that thrives on a fixed-mindset process—a flow-chart, emotionally charged.

To my surprise, the diabetes diagnosis also permitted everyone in my life to become an expert on my needs. As long as they followed the regimen prescribed to me or the one evident in the media around diabetes, they could, without barriers, offer up their judgment on my choices. Are you supposed to be eating that? A sigh. A glance as you get a second helping. I was a 102-pound 17-year-old athlete - I did not get my new reality. I now had the world determining what I needed. It was overwhelming without validation.

With the perspective I have now, I can understand. I have compassion and empathy for all the strangers who had family members that went blind, lost their leg, or died due to the complications of diabetes. I was 17, and I took it in the best I could. It was a lot. Much of it fear-based.

For all those who feel discord reading "complications of diabetes" instead of "complications of uncontrolled diabetes," let me ask you this, are you certain, or does sitting in the illusion of certainty offered by science make you feel better? If the last year has given us anything, it is the exposed reality of our illusions of certainty, layers by layers being peeled back like an onion, again and again.

So I ate raisins. I didn't feel shame, and I didn't feel blame. I didn't feel judged. I didn't feel guilt. I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel overwhelmed. It was the path of least resistance to feel good. I craved them, and I ate them.. simple.

Nobody asked me. Nobody asked me what was important to me.

As a health coach, that is what I do, ask.

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