I don’t remember anything before diabetes.  I know that because my earliest “smell memory” is the sterile wipes that we used to clean my skin for injections.  My earliest visual memory is the glass elevator at Riley Children’s Hospital and the giant stuffed animals in the lobby.  So, I guess diabetes is where I start.
When I was almost three, my family found out that I have diabetes. Over the years, I have gathered what happened after that. My mother said that she called her mom and asked if she could babysit my brother and sister while we went to Riley for a few days. My dad, on the other hand, told me he was just arriving at it Indianapolis airport, when the intercom said,
“Eric Rose to the white courtesy phone.”
All he could think was “Oh no.”
In a mad rush to Indy, we went to Riley Children’s Hospital. While other kids will remember a slide or action figures as their first memory, I remember a hospital. I remember my mom and dad giving each other shots for training for my injections. I remember getting a stuffed animal from one of mom’s friends. I remember faking sleeping so I could hear their comforting voices, even if they were hushed worried tones. Eventually, though, I was released and my parents were told to let me resume my life completely differently with a handicap. when I was released, my third birthday was coming up. The nurses told my parents to limit my carb intake and have a constant diet. Suddenly, my lifestyle was dampered.
After many years of my parents controlling my disability, I began to take action. I treated myself for lows, highs, meals, you name it. I counted my own carbs, pricked my own finger, and tested my blood sugar by myself. Every few days I inserted the infusion set that delivers insulin under my skin. I forced myself to eat extra carbs before exercise even if I wasn't hungry and chugged juice boxes as fast as I could when my blood sugar was low. I carried a bag with a blood sugar meter and some candy with me everywhere I went, to the park, a friends house, and the swimming pool. My mother was still monitoring me throughout my surge of independance.
She would constantly tell me, “You will have to do these things on your own eventually.”
Now fast forward a few more years. The teenage years, when hormones become angst. While most teens were having troubles with everyone hating them, I had problems grasping why I, of all people, had diabetes. Months of anger ensued, which eventually led to severed relationships. I was distant from my family, and friends began to drift away from me.
“Why should I have to deal with this,” I constantly asked, “Why couldn’t anybody else have had to deal with this?”
One day during a particularly inspiring church sermon, my pastor preached about selflessness.
“I urge you to reflect on your conflicts. It can resolve your problems with God,” He said.
I decided to reflect on my feelings. Suddenly, my idiocy was revealed. I should have never have asked “why me?”, but instead asked “why not?” If I hadn’t had diabetes, in my mind, someone else would have had it instead. Possibly someone not able to correctly deal with their new disability.
I asked myself, “Do I really want to force this onto someone else?”
I began anew, with feelings of rejuvenation and joy on my new outlook on life. My friendships rekindled, though I’m still working on making a fire, and my family came back to me. I will never again ask why me, instead, I will accept my fate head on. I do not have a physical disability. I only had, and will never have again, a mental restriction.