The Tale of Two Diabetics

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 nce upon a time, there lived…me!  I was a princess who was in love with Prince Charming…7 dwarfs…locked in a tower…heroic journey…blah, blah, blah.  This story doesn’t have any of the usual fairytale components.  Sorry!  Instead, it was created due to my diabetes, just like many others.  It all began two years ago, out on a big, soccer field…

To complete P.E. once a week at my elementary school, we had to use the field of a park that was just below a little staircase.  There was a reason we didn’t just use our own field, maybe because little kids were using it at the time?  I don’t know, not the point of the story.  So anyway, my friends and I walked the short trek over to this park where a game of soccer was set up for our P.E. session that day.  Score!  I love soccer and was just waiting until a day where we could play my favorite sport during P.E.  We always did all these really stupid games no one really liked, and we only played “Chicken”, everybody’s favorite, like two or three times.  It stunk.

So when I found out we were playing my sport, I was absolutely thrilled.  I was ready to show off my skills to my fellow classmates, although none of them gave a darn.  I set my little backpack off to the side, ready to warm-up and then kick some butt.  My little backpack was one of those mini carriers that I used to keep my diabetics supplies: meter, test strips, smarties were all in abundance in case I felt that low-sensation in my legs.

We stretched out, all the while being told the rules of the game, which as I recall were much different than the real game (I always hate that…when P.E. teachers get you all excited about playing a real sport, and then they just change all the rules on you.  So much so that you don’t even recognize the sport anymore.  It’s a terrible thing.  Just plain terrible J).

As the game begun, I was kind of half-playing.  When you are not actually playing a real soccer game on a real soccer field with real soccer players, it is very hard to play as well as you usually do.  At least for me.  I didn’t want to get into the elementary drama of, “You cheated!”  “No I didn’t!  You did!  The ball was out!”  That oh-so-familiar fighting during school games is so very annoying, giving me a headache just about every single time.  It bugs the you-know-what out of me.  And even though it is such a young and elementary thing to do, there are plenty of kids who still say, “You’re a cheater!” during P.E. in middle school.  Middle school!  Give me a break, people!

Since I was worrying about staying out of the drama, I barely noticed the sensation in my legs that told me I felt low.  I started to panic, knowing that I couldn’t just sneak out of the game for a second and then get back in without anyone noticing.  My older, heavier, male P.E. teacher at the time (we had a different one every trimester), was standing right next to where it is my backpack was resting along with all the water bottles.  I told my friend about my conundrum (like my word?  I learned it on TV!  Who says the TV isn’t educational? J) and she told me she would go with me to talk to the teacher.  I would just tell him my usual spiel about my diabetes and all that and he would just let me test my blood sugar.  But that’s too easy.

I walked over, told him about my type 1, notified him about my current low condition and that I had to test (just so you know, I shouldn’t have to tell him anything; the meeting I had at the beginning of the year with my principal, assured me that he would let all of my teachers know about my type 1, including P.E.  Apparently that was not the case, for I had to repeat myself to the man that I needed to test NOW).

“I have diabetes too, and I only have to test my blood sugar once a day,” he said to me, a serious look on his face.  It crossed my mind that he maybe thought I was just trying to get out of P.E.  Why?!  Soccer is my favorite sport and I was sad I had to leave it for a few minutes to go and test.  Of course, it was getting to be longer than a few minutes because the darn man wasn’t moving.  I was getting lower by the minute.

“Do you take insulin?” I questioned.

“What’s insulin?”

Okay, well now I get it.  He must have Type 2 Diabetes if he doesn’t know what insulin is, or let alone, take it.  Of course, NOW is the time I have to go through and explain to him that Type 1 Diabetes is MUCH, MUCH, MUCH different than Type 2.  I am using the red color, the underlining, the bold on the numbers to emphasize my frustration.  Goodness!

“Well, that might be true that you have diabetes.  It’s just that you have a different type than me, meaning that you can get away with testing once, while I have to test my blood sugar 10-12 times a day.  And this falls in as one of those 10-12.  Um…” I stuttered.  “So…could you let me test, now?”  I could see the wheels in his brain turning and I took this as an in.  I scooted past him and started testing my blood sugar, not caring if he got mad at me, or something.  I was somewhere in the 50 range, and had a smartie, just wondering how low I would’ve been if I had stayed any longer.  While I was eating, the gym teacher decided he wanted to learn about his diabetes…right at this very moment.

“So, I have Type 2 Diabetes…  Hmmm…”  He pondered this a second before asking, “So what is it you have?”

I couldn’t believe that I was about to give a full-on lesson to a teacher.  While I was low.  And munching on some smarties. 

I swallowed, “Well, Type 1, which is what I have, means that my pancreas doesn’t make any insulin.  There wasn’t anything I could have done or couldn’t have done to cause it.  Type 2 is where the pancreas creates a little bit of insulin.”  I chose my words carefully here because he obviously was lacking education on his type 2.

He finally left me alone and I continued in the soccer game.  Thank goodness.  I couldn’t believe I had to educate my own teacher.  He actually ended up being really nice to me, though, always asking me questions about my type 1 and his type 2.  He was sincere with his questions, so I didn’t mind.  I ended up feeling good about myself because I taught someone else about what it is I go through every day.  And although he decided to tell me the lovely story about his relative who lost his foot because of his type 2 (the relative’s blood sugar was consistently high), he didn’t bug me too much…  Key words: too much.  J