Type I Chapter 1

In August, 1990, I was a 215lb 15 year old who could run fast, and all day long. By January 3, 1991, I was a 150lb 15 year old who thought that water was the greatest thing man ever learned about, drank any liquid all day, and pissed it away every 10 minutes. Three weeks earlier, I had taken a history mid-term, 100 multiple choice questions, 4 short essays, in under 25 mins - all because I was thirsty, and needed to use the bathroom (one of those exams where you had to be in the room until you were done).

My mother decided that I needed to go to a clinic to get checked out after she noticed that you could see my ribs. By the time we got back home from the clinic, they had called three times - my sugar was 486, and said I should get to the hospital right away. In my last 30 mins (the drive to the hospital) of "normalcy," I went out in style: a bag of sour patch kids, and 2 liters of Coke.

January 3, 1991 was a Thursday. I remember this mostly because most of the doctors from the hospital were away, skiing for the weekend. The first doctor came in and asked me who else in my family was a diabetic? "No one." "Oh," he said with a concerned look on his face, "well, do you have any questions?" "Will I be able to play football?" "That's your question?" I nodded enthusiastically. "Hold on." He left, and I never saw him again, but he sent in 2 residents, one from Notre Dame, and the other from Michigan, naturally, because I had asked about football.

"So, who else in your family is a diabetic?" they asked. I gave them the same answer I gave the first guy. "Oh," they said with the same look, "Do you have any questions?" I asked the same question, and they laughed. They spent the rest of their shift with me, talking football, telling me everything would be fine, and asking if I was sure I didn't have a diabetic relative. See, back then there was little evidence that it was anything other than a hereditary disease, so they didn't know what to say.

The next morning, the nurse practitioner assigned to me came to discuss things with me. Same questions, same answers. Told me I could leave the hospital after I met with the doctor, and learned how to give myself a shot, so, Tuesday, at the earliest. Then, she said what has turned out to be the cruelest, most unprofessional thing I have ever heard: "You don't have to worry, there's no reason to believe diabetes will be around in 10 years, so that's about how long you'll have to deal with it, 10 years." And now, 18 years later? Thanks.