By the Numbers: 7 Years with T1D

November is National Diabetes Month. It’s also the month I was officially diagnosed. Seven years ago today, the day before Thanksgiving, I got my diagnosis: Type 1 Diabetes.  The next day I started on insulin again. Thanksgiving morning. I remember because I effed up my shot somehow (it had been a while since I’d given myself a shot), hit a pocket of nerves or who knows what, and came close to passing out. My vision was a snowstorm, and our Corgi planted himself on the bathroom floor next to me while my husband called 911.  By the time the paramedics arrived I had come around, so they checked my vitals and left without me. At my request we went about Thanksgiving as though it never happened.

Seven years ago my life changed forever. Seems a lifetime ago. It’s hard to remember a time when I didn’t know the approximate number of carbs in everything, or when I was last able to wear a dress without coming up with a strategy for where my insulin pump would go. Seven years. Since then I’ve made it through a miscarriage, some minor surgeries, another baby, a divorce, and some serious dead end relationships.  I’ve also made lots of new friendships, welcomed new family members, and even fallen in love. I’m thankful for all of it, and for every day I get to wake up and give life another shot (even if I do hit the snooze bar at least three times).


Well, as I’ve been typing a new day has begun. So Happy Thanksgiving, day of insane amounts of carbs, where we eat to our fill, and then eat some more. Time to go fill up my insulin pump.


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