In a few months, I’ll turn 33 years old. As hard as that is to wrap my head around, it’s even harder to believe I’ve had type 1 diabetes for almost 22 of those years. As a child, my mother would wake in the middle of the night to check on me. We didn’t have CGMs back then so she’d flip on the light in my bedroom and watch whether I reacted. If I did, she went back to bed. If I didn’t, she woke me up to test. During low blood sugars in high school, I left class with a designated friend to test and eat. I wasn’t allowed to drive a car without testing first, and I rarely went somewhere without someone (or everyone) knowing I had type 1 diabetes. My mother made sure everyone around me was prepared and knowledgeable on highs, lows and emergency contact numbers.
But then I graduated and left for college. I slept alone in my dorm frequently. I stayed out late and joined social clubs, never mentioning my diabetes. I even ditched my pump for injections so no one would know I had T1D. My mother worried constantly and I heard every reason in the book for why I needed to tell people, especially my closest friends. But I was independent and dare I admit, even a bit stubborn.
Much to my mother’s disappointment, nothing has really changed. Four years ago, I took up cycling after signing up for the JDRF Ride to Cure Diabetes Death Valley ride. Not only was I traveling to the other side of the country alone, but I was also spending countless hours out on the road alone logging serious training miles. I remember one training day being in a semi-desolate part of the county and feeling those dreaded symptoms. My legs lost all their power. My heart was racing even after I’d slowed my pace. The world around me started to faintly fade in and out. I stopped and tested and found myself with a blood sugar in the 30s and half a tube of glucose tablets left. I hadn’t packed enough snacks for the ride. Not only was I alone, but I hadn’t shared my route with anyone, and cell service in this part of the county was sparse. Fortunately, the glucose tablets worked and 20 minutes later, I headed home.
It was in that moment though, I realized I would never be OK with diabetes limiting me or holding me back from anything I wanted to do. That included traveling alone and riding alone. I made some big lifestyle changes that summer. I started eating differently and tracking my blood sugars better. I paid attention to symptoms and packed enough snacks to be prepared for anything. (No, really. I store up food like a chipmunk before winter.)
Instead of letting diabetes limit me, I used it as motivation. Paying closer attention to detail and planning ahead may slightly limit my ability to be sporadic, but it allows me the freedom to go wherever I want and usually whenever I want! (And it sure made my mother happier.) Since that scary and enlightening day on the bike four years ago, I’ve traveled across the country and around the world, often alone and usually with my bicycle in tow. My friends know where I stash my snacks and my emergency rations, I map my routes and share them with friends ahead of time and I wear an indestructible medic alert bracelet with my info and my emergency contact’s info. I don’t hide behind diabetes anymore. I own it and live life with it. Life’s a lot more fun this way.