When I was 3 years old, I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. The chronic disease has never been a big deal for me. It’s obnoxious, sure, but manageable. Over the course of my 34 years, I estimate I’ve given myself some 55,000 injections. I’ve worked hard to stay healthy. I have run a few half-marathons and completed a full. I’m not a fast runner, and I never particularly enjoyed it, but I knew my diabetes would catch up to me at some point, so I ran because I could.
About three and a half years ago, everything changed. I was part of a group of women called Leadership Texas. It was a yearlong program with which we traveled to different cities and learned about the people making a difference. One of our sessions was in Amarillo. The second day of the trip, on a Saturday, I woke up in my hotel room soaked in sweat. Every part of my body was swollen. I couldn’t bend my fingers, my toes, my elbows, or my knees. I was exhausted beyond description.
I had joined a study a year and a half prior to see if a medicine that is used on Type 2 diabetics could work for Type 1s. It had been a great 18 months, with lower blood sugars and weight loss. But then I changed jobs and, thus, insurance companies. The new company didn’t like the name-brand drug. They made me switch to a generic.
That morning in Amarillo, I figured I was having a reaction to this new drug. I was convinced that things would go back to normal in a few weeks. I was certain it was just a small bump in the road.
I was wrong.
What follows are my Facebook posts over the years, lightly edited, as I saw nearly a dozen doctors in an effort to figure out what was wrong with me.Read More