by Patricia Wolf
I was born in Cleveland, Ohio, in November 1942. At just 18 months old, I had (as I was later told) a severe viral infection. Shortly after that, my mother and I moved to Georgia, where my father was a flight instructor for the men going to war. My mother, at that time seven months pregnant, asked her OB doctor why I was drinking so much and had apparently lost the potty training I had learned. He sent us upstairs to another physician, who took a urine sample from me. After testing it, he told my mother I was probably diabetic, and that she should take me, at once, to see a famous pediatrician, a specialist in diabetes, at the Cleveland Clinic. I grew thirsty later that day, so she gave me a Coke. When we arrived in Cleveland on the train the next day, I was unconscious. This is how my life as a diabetic began.
I was under good control (or at least as good a control as could be expected at that time) and had no complications of diabetes. The Cleveland Clinic put me on a high fat diet, believing that was the way it should be. They told my mother I would be lucky to live until I was 30.
My mother managed to control me as much as possible with, as we now know, the inadequate regimen of urine testing, boiling glass syringes, sharpening oversized needles and chasing me around the house to give me shots. She used to say that she would wait to see why I got crabby -- was it low blood sugar or just me being crabby? As I grew up, I was periodically taken to the hospital in an ambulance with extremely low blood sugars. I was particularly reckless while a teenager, ending up in the hospital a couple of times with diabetic ketoacidosis [from very high blood sugars].
I went to nursing school in Cleveland, graduated in 1964, and then I married. Between partying and working, I managed to keep the diabetes in fair control. At that time, this involved Clinitest tablet testing of urine sugar, and using the test tape that had recently been invented.It also meant several injections a day of either PZI, or later NPH and Regular insulin.
I became pregnant in early 1966, and was absolutely rigid about taking care of the diabetes, as I really wanted a healthy baby. One time during my pregnancy, my doctor's office called my husband, as I had missed an appointment. He came home, and found me unconscious, with very low blood sugar. I was put in the hospital and my insulin was readjusted to much lower doses. I gained only what my baby weighed, and he was born three weeks early at a normal birth weight; not heavy as so many babies of diabetic mothers often are).
Life continued, and I returned to working as an RN a few months later. When my son was about 18 months old, I became pregnant again, and had the same difficulty keeping my glucose level high enough. As it was even worse this time, the doctors decided to deliver him early, with a C-section. I was huge, and they were wondering if I had twins; yet I had gained only five pounds. My daughter was born six weeks early, at exactly five pounds. This hugeness was the extreme amount of amniotic fluid that surrounds the baby -- a symptom of a diabetic mother. However, my daughter was healthy, just small.
When my kids were eight and ten, I started seeing big floaters in my eyes. Sure enough, I had diabetic retinopathy, and within 18 months I was totally blind. My husband and I decided to leave rural Ohio, where we lived, and move to California, hoping it would be easier for me if we escaped the snow. (I had not had any mobility training at that time.) The move to California was wonderful, and I have never regretted it.
I returned to college, and eventually earned a master's degree in Educational and Rehabilitation Counseling. After some struggle, I finally found my first job as a blind person; I worked for 18 months as a counselor in a locked psychiatric facility. Later I became a Counselor Teacher for the Department of Rehabilitation, working in several cities in California. In the meantime, talking glucose meters were invented, and these helped me control my blood sugar better.
However, the years of non-control and unwise eating and the stress of a failed marriage caused two heart attacks. The first one, which was not diagnosed at the time, was while I was at a guide dog school, receiving training for my first guide. Nine months later, in 1990, I had another one, so I underwent a quadruple bypass. I was only 48 years old at the time. Well, that cured me of heavy-duty eating and partying.
Since then I have managed to maintain control of my diet, weight and exercise situation; a new insulin pump also helps a lot. The use of the Accu-Check VoiceMate, although it does have problems, lets me keep more accurate check of my blood sugar (I do at least six checks a day). Having a dog encourages me to walk.
I have always been a busy person, running here and there. I belong to many organizations, worked until I was 60, re-married, and now that I decided to retire, I am extremely busy, volunteering at several places, and teaching diabetic education at the Braille Institute in Los Angeles. I am now 61, and about to celebrate my 60th year as a diabetic, having lived long past the projected time the doctor at the Cleveland Clinic predicted. I still take heart medication, but I have not needed a second by-pass surgery (something very unusual for a diabetic). My kidneys are still working, although at a decreased rate, and I am not yet worried about needing dialysis.
My motto is "eat my dust," and I think that is what keeps me going. I think people today have such a much better chance than I did; it only takes determination to control the disease and not let it control you!