2008 Woodie Awards
Living with a diabetic is an eye opening experience
Jessica Lutoff
Issue date: 10/31/04 Section: Viewpoint
"Here, put this in your purse," Sarah, my roommate, said to me once all the boxes had been unpacked and the beds made. It was the first day of our freshmen year, and as it was, things were already overwhelming.
"What is that?" I asked, eyeing a cylindrical, red, plastic case.
"It's a glucagon kit."
And so it began, the life of a roommate of someone living with diabetes. Every morning, my roommate's day starts with a prick of her finger to check her blood sugar.
Nineteen years old and more responsible and mature than most adults I know, Sarah was diagnosed with Type I diabetes in June of 1999. For the first year and a half, she administered insulin injections to herself, and then was put on an insulin pump. The transition was smooth, but since the pump clipped onto her pants or belt, Sarah encountered many second glances.
During her Freshmen Orientation, one boy claimed, "I haven't seen anyone with a beeper since the 90's!" It is instances like this that display the gracious and mature nature that my roommate has had to develop since her diagnosis.
"It's not a beeper; it's actually an insulin pump. I'm a diabetic."
People would apologize, as though they had greatly offended her, but she could not care less. The girl had to become a pro at handling diabetes-illiterate individuals.
So, on that fateful day when she handed me her glucagon kit, she handled it just as well. I learned that a glucagon kit would be used if her blood sugar were unresponsively low.
"If I'm throwing up, or passed out, that's when you use it," she explained, opening the case. "See?" There are instructions inside." She held a small vile and syringe in front of me. "Don't worry. It's easy. And I promise, you'll most likely never have to use it."
So far, I haven't had to use it because my roommate has taken good care of herself. She checks her blood sugar often, pricking her finger, placing a droplet of blood on a test strip. Sometimes her glucometer (the device used to check one's blood sugar) would read error in several times in a row, resulting in aching fingers, but she never complained.
"What is that?" I asked, eyeing a cylindrical, red, plastic case.
"It's a glucagon kit."
And so it began, the life of a roommate of someone living with diabetes. Every morning, my roommate's day starts with a prick of her finger to check her blood sugar.
Nineteen years old and more responsible and mature than most adults I know, Sarah was diagnosed with Type I diabetes in June of 1999. For the first year and a half, she administered insulin injections to herself, and then was put on an insulin pump. The transition was smooth, but since the pump clipped onto her pants or belt, Sarah encountered many second glances.
During her Freshmen Orientation, one boy claimed, "I haven't seen anyone with a beeper since the 90's!" It is instances like this that display the gracious and mature nature that my roommate has had to develop since her diagnosis.
"It's not a beeper; it's actually an insulin pump. I'm a diabetic."
People would apologize, as though they had greatly offended her, but she could not care less. The girl had to become a pro at handling diabetes-illiterate individuals.
So, on that fateful day when she handed me her glucagon kit, she handled it just as well. I learned that a glucagon kit would be used if her blood sugar were unresponsively low.
"If I'm throwing up, or passed out, that's when you use it," she explained, opening the case. "See?" There are instructions inside." She held a small vile and syringe in front of me. "Don't worry. It's easy. And I promise, you'll most likely never have to use it."
So far, I haven't had to use it because my roommate has taken good care of herself. She checks her blood sugar often, pricking her finger, placing a droplet of blood on a test strip. Sometimes her glucometer (the device used to check one's blood sugar) would read error in several times in a row, resulting in aching fingers, but she never complained.