My Story - Part 3

Continued from "My Story - Part 1" & "My Story - Part 2"...

I recently read this about type 1 diabetes:

"Type 1 diabetes is a terminal illness.  If we don't work our ass off day in and day out, 24 hours a day and 7 days a week, with no breaks and no vacations, we'd die.  We fight death every minute of every day."

When you are the parent of a child with diabetes that is what you do.  You fight.  Every day.  To keep them alive.  I have often said at the end of a day that it was a good day because my son was still breathing.  I had done my job for the day.

I can't explain to you the stress, heartache and anxiety that comes from having a child that lives with this disease.  I can't explain to you how devastating it is to your way of life and to all that you took for granted as a parent to have this disease enter your home.  You wouldn't understand because unless you live with it you CAN'T understand.  Not fully.  And I am THANKFUL that you don't have to understand. 

What I can say is this:  When someone lives with as much stress, heartache and anxiety as us parents of children with diabetes do, it is very difficult find an outlet to channel those emotions. 

I, however, very quickly found my outlet:  My old friend food had always been there.  And it was still there.  Food was my shoulder to cry on when I felt that I couldn't put my husband through yet another emotional collapse.  After all, he was grieving this diagnosis too...

Food was my best friend when I needed something or someone who understood.  Who would sympathize with this constant fear that I was going to do something wrong.  That I was going to over-dose or under-dose him with insulin.  That he would die.  And it would be MY fault.  The first year after diagnosis especially I lived in constant fear that I was going to make one tiny mistake and kill my baby boy.  Because with this disease that's all it takes!!  One small mistake could cost your child their life.  None of my friends understood that fear.  I was thankful they didn't.  But I needed a best friend and it was food.  Food made me feel better (temporarily, of course) every time.

Food was my parent.  It was where I went to for advice.  Some people do their best thinking while they are sitting on the toilet or in the shower.  Not me.  I think when I eat.  Its almost like I can slip into a mindless meditative state where all my happy hormones are there and my mind becomes clear and I can THINK.  I can give myself the advice that I wasn't able to get from any parental figure in my life at the time.  They didn't understand.  They didn't know this disease the way I was coming to know it.

Food was my sibling.  It was the big sister that I had always wanted.  The one that picked me up and dusted me off when I fell down and said, "You got this - I'll help!  You don't have to do this alone because I am 100% here for you."

This went on for 4 years.

But here's the thing:  Food was also the two-faced friend that when I was done crying on it's shoulder it turned around and stabbed me in the back.  Food was the abusive parent that when it was done hearing me out made me feel like I was failing because I wasn't seeing about my own health and well-being while I was trying to see about my son's.  Food was the selfish sibling that after picking me up and dusting me put it's needs before mine.  That promise of being there for me proving to be a lie.  Food was hurting me far more than it was helping.  It was my drug.  And it was killing me.   I had labeled diabetes the threat in our house.  But the truth was it was FOOD that was killing someone.  It was FOOD that was killing me.  My son was happy, fairly well-adjusted to his disease, and because of our constant vigilance he was HEALTHY!!  He was happy & healthy.  And I was the one who was dying. 

4 years.  And just like that, one morning I woke up and I was over 400lbs. 

(to be continued...)