For Kycie, David, and all the other kids who didn ' t make it.

I could have been them. Taken from this earth far too young, before I ' d even hit double-digits in age. < div > < br / > < /div > < div > I can only remember bits and pieces of the day I was diagnosed. I ' m not even sure what the exact day was, but it was in July of 1990. I couldn ' t breathe. My mom and dad rushed me to my pediatrician right away, where I started throwing up bile. I remember being hurried from the pediatrician ' s office to the hospital, right across the street. I can recall being a little scared, and a lot uncomfortable. < br / > < br / > I was eight years old. All I knew was that I wanted someone to fix me, and the whole thing felt very surreal. I learned I was in something called diabetic ketoacidosis. (Maybe it was all the Sesame Street I watched when I was even smaller, but I first thought they were saying something that sounded like Spanish: < i > quequitoacidosis. < /i > Pretty sure that is not a thing.) < /div > < div > < br / > < /div > < div > Yet, it ' s what I found out later in life that rings true to this day, and brings pain to the hearts and minds of parents, caregivers and healthcare workers alike. Diabetes wasn ' t anyone ' s first thought when I first got sick. & nbsp; < /div > < div > < br / > < /div > < div > My pediatrician was deeply bothered by the fact that he missed it--my mom had talked to him a couple of weeks before about how I seemed to have the flu in the summertime. Some nasty virus was spreading around kids that summer, so ...
Source: Dorkabetic - Category: Endocrinology Authors: Source Type: blogs