Blast from the past: My First Life Event

I can still remember what I dreamed the night on the D-Day. I had a gigantic delicious-looking cake in front of me but sadly, I woke up when I was about to eat it >-( Perhaps, it was a sign. Anyway, I was taken to a doctor and prescribed some medicines. He also asked me to start a strict diet and it went pretty well because my mom took a good care of me and helped me every second. My blood sugar was tested in the lab frequently and was consistently good. However, I still kept losing my weight until it hit 85 lbs and I did not even try to step on the scale anymore. I even lost an inch of my height (from 64.5 inch); I was so terrified. I did not have my periods for 3 months because my body fat was not enough (less than 22%) to produce the estrogen. I was not the only one who had lost weight. My mom had lost a lot too but she was unbelievably strong for me. About 2 months later, my parents took me to a hospital called National University Hospital in Singapore to see a specialist. I could not speak English very well at that time let alone Chinese. Fortunately, my dad was quite good on speaking both and could make conversation to my doctor very well. He told my dad that he was very skeptical about the pills I had been taking. After carefully learning about my condition, he wanted to do a little experiment to me. He told me to come back the next day early in the morning fasting. I was then given a pure glucose solution and my blood was drawn and analyzed every hour for a total of six hours. He wanted to see my insulin production in response to my blood glucose level. Then came the bad news: seeing the result, my doctor told me that I had to start insulin injections. O my Lord, I can still feel that moment. Never in my life I had imagined to live day by day with needles; they were my biggest fear. I freaked out, I could not hold my tears and it was definitely my first life event. It was a big slap on my face. I was so confused I thought I did alright with the pills and diets. Then my doctor explained to me that I had been in a "honeymoon period", a short period of time after the diagnosis of type 1 diabetes during which there is some restoration of insulin production and the blood sugar levels improve to normal, or near-normal levels. Unfortunately, like other honeymoons, this diabetes honeymoon did not last forever and apparently not for long for me. He said that the beta cells on my pancreas had stopped producing insulin so that the glucose in my body was not used to create fuel. Then my body used the alternative resource, which was my body fat. That was why I kept losing weight. The danger of it though was that it produced ketones as its by-products. High levels of ketones are harmful, so as soon as they started to rise, my body tried to get rid of them through my urine. Trying to get rid of not only the ketones but also the unused glucose had made me extremely dehydrated and needed to pee very often. If the ketones continued to build up, it would act like poison and could cause blurred eyesight, hard breathing, fruity smell odor, and tiredness. I tried my best to understand and accept it. After that visit, my parents learned how to poke my fingers to test my blood sugar. I can understand now how hard it must have been for them to teach me how to do it. My dad ended up spilling all the test strips when first time trying to poke my finger. However, it was so much more painless and convenient than having it done in the lab. I came back to the hospital the next day and had to stay some nights in there so that they could teach me how to give myself the insulin injections and adjust how much insulin I needed. I was told to use mixtard insulin twice a day, in the morning and before dinner. Mixtard contains 2 types of insulin: fast-acting and intermediate-acting. The morning shot was supposed to cover my breakfast and lunch while the evening shot was supposed to take care of my dinner and the rest of the night. After I was released from the hospital, we all went back home and it was almost my 13th birthday. I felt very sad I did not want to celebrate my birthday. I told my mom that I wished I could be normal. She said to me,"Everyone carries his/her own cross; you just need to look down sometimes. You are lucky enough to be diagnosed this soon!" I guess she was right; I always look to people above me and never look at those who suffer.