Diagnosis

Friday March 10, 1989
Age: 7 1/2 years old, Grade: 2
Place: Toronto, Ontario, Canada 

I had been having frequent accidents (peeing my pants) at school, at Scottish dance lessons and in the middle of the night. My mom frequently scolded me for not using the bathroom before leaving the house, even though I had. She finally decided we were going to the doctor. I was told later she had noticed the symptoms had been going on for about 12 days. I was too skinny and she was worried about me. She had been a nurse, so she probably had her suspicions as to what was wrong. 
It was a P.D. Day, which meant a day off for school kids so we went in the early afternoon. It seemed like a normal doctor's visit, but as we were leaving the nurse ran after us. She told my mom we had to go to the hospital: I had glucose and ketones in my urine sample; I had Type 1 Diabetes. We went home for my dad and my sister and made our way to the Hospital for Sick Children (the hospital Frederick Banting worked with to treat diabetic children with insulin).
The last time I had been at the hospital (that I remember) was when I was 4 years old and had the croup (whooping cough). For me (and I think I'm unique in this respect) hospitals meant time with one or both of my parents with the focus on me. I also highly respected the hospital and hospital staff because I had a book about a girl going to the hospital to have her appendix removed. She is well taken care of and spends her time in the ward with other children chatting and playing games. I had an entirely optimistic view about my diagnosis and how well the doctors and nurses would take care of me. My mom was more upset than I was. I was reassuring her of how well they would take care of me. I don't think I really knew what the diagnosis meant, but I didn't know anyone else with Type 1 Diabetes.

I was brought to a room in the ER almost immediately when we arrived at the hospital (my pediatrician, who was also affiliated with the hospital and had called ahead). They drew my blood and bruised my arm quite badly on the first attempt. I got Kool-aid (sugar free, I think) to drink and I insisted that I preferred just plain water. They insisted that the Kool-aid was better for me (maybe for the electrolytes?). I could have whatever flavor I wanted. I really cannot stand orange Kool-aid now. Within the next few hours, I had an IV catheter placed in my left arm and was brought up to my room in the endocrinology ward on the 8th floor. I had 3 roommates total over the week I was there. I could see the Hasty Market variety store across University Ave from my window beside the bed and lots of traffic. I always had one of my parents or a nurse with me. They had lectures for my parents and school work and books like "Donny and Diabetes" (published in the 1960s, featuring stick figures and urine tablets for glucose testing) and fingerpricks and injections for me.

After a few days, when my IV catheter was removed, I was allowed to go home for a few hours one afternoon. I had occasionally been an emotional child but I don't think I ever had as big a tantrum as when I go to my grandmother's house. I just screamed that I had to go back to the hospital to be monitored the entire time. Maybe it was a shortage of sleep or getting in the habit of urinating in a shared bathroom with "cowboy hat" specimen collection containers that I thought was cool, but I didn't think I should have left. I believe they do the entire program as out-patient now, unless ketones or DKA are an issue.


My mom, again, because she had been a nurse, had encouraged us to eat a lot of fruits and vegetables. Candy and pop were ok about once a week, in moderation. Despite not eating much sugar, from a young age, I still struggle with portion control of high carb food like potatoes, pasta, and breads that make balancing diabetes control difficult.

When I finally went back to school I borrowed the copy of "Donny and Diabetes" from the local library and taught all the kids at school about what I had been learning. The only thing the other kids cared about was whether it was contagious or not. They didn't really care if it had nothing to do with them.