In a Nutshell

My new life began about a year ago, on March 28, 2013 when I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes (T1D). I was about 6 months pregnant and had just gotten home from a weekend of hiking in Southern Utah. It was beautiful and warm. My husband and I were loving the red rock and laughing at how I seemed to pee several times on every trail--assuming it was because I was drinking liters of water. Little did we know that was my body's way of telling me my pancreas was checking out and my life would forever be changed. A few weeks later with a blood glucose of 620, I earned a fast pass to labor and delivery on an insulin drip, confronted by doctors with no explanation. The medical team was phenomenal during that admission. They had no idea why it happened, but were determined to educate and support me through the overwhelming learning curve. I was sent home with a new perspective on pregnancy, food, exercise, sleep and stress; armed with meal plans, lantus, novolog, and my beloved Freestyle lite glucometer. I cried a lot those first few weeks. I had lived a healthy lifestyle for my first 27 years and could not understand why my body would betray me. I was angry at my body and fought against the reality of the disease emotionally, mentally and physically. I tried to deny it (example: eating just a "few more carbs" for dinner) but two hours and one high glucose test later was reminded that this really isn't going away. I still cry. I still curse the pancreas that failed and wish that I could be more spontaneous with food and exercise. But I'm grateful for the community of support I've discovered. My endocrinologist and her educators who answer my many detailed questions, my family who encourage me to press on through the highs and lows (literally), and my fellow diabetics who help me find humor in something serious. A year later I am now armed with a new purple pancreas (Medtronic Minimed)and a determination to run as far and as much as I used to. I want to go to bed without the fear of passing out. I want to accept my body for what it is now and be grateful for what it can still accomplish. I went on my first run this morning and was quickly reminded how out of running shape I am. Of course I told myself many things like "woah...I didn't realize how much stamina I've lost" or, "I wonder if I look as exhausted as I really feel?" and "since when did I get so jiggly?" I was able to stop the negativity by realizing "you are finally running again, enjoy the moment even though your quads hurt because they haven't been worked like this in months." It was progress. My attitude still isn't where I want it to be and I'm pretty sure I will still glare at every runner with amazing calves who seems to complete a route up the canyon with ease--no sweat and no problem (and definitely no jiggle). That's not me now and who knows if it will ever be. But I am working on getting to a place where I feel confident in my diabetes control by constantly seeking to better understand how different variables affect my glucose. It's a journey, and it's mine. I can't do anything else but move through it, learn about it, and work with it.