My life with diabetes: I was lucky enough to find the strength
Next week is Diabetes Awareness Week. Here, Lilly Brown considers her own experience as a Type 1 diabetic, what support is available and what more could be done for those living with the condition
I rang my mum recently and of course she asked me how my blood sugars were and if I had eaten dinner yet – a typical diabetes mum.
Later she reminded me of the time I had rung to tell her I’d met fellow diabetics at university.
She spoke about “how amazing it is that a shared illness can be a great conversation starter!” – and, always being a fan of clichés, I replied: “Well, a problem shared is a problem halved.”
Growing up, my mum was my support, though I recognise now that she would probably have benefited herself from being able to share her experiences with fellow parents and carers of diabetics.
It was in 2015 that my life and my family’s lives changed forever. Aged 14, I was unexpectedly diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. At that age, the prospect of having to inject myself with insulin multiple times a day was too daunting to face alone. I was uncontrollably anxious about gaining weight, a fear inherited from sheer lack of knowledge about the condition and confused associations with Type 2 diabetes. Bad eating habits nevertheless became common as I tried to detach myself from the disease. I couldn’t help comparing myself negatively to my sisters, two perfectly healthy individuals who, despite their love and support, just couldn’t relate to me.
My mother, from the get-go, was my beacon. She was there for my diagnosis, led conversations with clinicians when I didn’t know what to ask, demanded the best care and attention. She was there in the middle of the night making me toast when my blood sugars plummeted.
Heading off to university a few years on was as exciting for me as it would be for any other teenager. On reflection, though, this is where things started to go really wrong: I was isolated and, as a result, vulnerable.
For three years my diabetes management was shocking, my mental health plummeted and the 14-year-old self who just wanted to ignore the condition started to resurface.
I was in and out of the hospital like it was a supermarket, picking up new complications each time.
Nurses and doctors rallied around as did family and friends – at least those who could still stand to be around me – but I was truly lost.
Thankfully, after a turbulent few years, I found it within myself to break away from my toxic pattern, accepted learning to live with diabetes rather than constantly battling it. Diabetes is very much a part of me – and will be for life – but I can still go out with friends, play sport, travel, dream of the future.
My rocky path with diabetes has became a little less rocky, and I was lucky enough to find the strength to get through it.
Now aged 21 and on a much more even keel I can see that what my mother had to deal with was in some ways greater than my own struggles and, as any parent will understand, the worries you have for your children never really go away.
Her support has meant I am able to live with diabetes. She is my unsung hero. I just wish there was more support for her and others like her.