My Pancreas, later dubbed "Mr. Panky" as depicted by a dear friend.
Nutmeg the cat on the day bed, in the room where I rested that day.
I had a check up soon after. I told my doctor that I had been feeling tired and at times, "shaky." I even stated that I thought I might have low blood sugar, and that there is Diabetes in my family. She attributed it to stress, said to "have snacks" with me and "she has experienced the same thing sometimes, and Diabetes would be unusual at my age." But, I was consistently feeling "off." I had some similar signs about 2 years before which I also mentioned to my doctor. My first memory, however, of feeling more definitively sick was in late April 2006.
Blowing out Birthday candles for my 27th.
By then, I had little energy, even for one of my favorite things: entertaining guests at our newly renovated Pittsburgh home for Carnegie Mellon's Spring Carnival. It was my 27th Birthday and we had 20-30 friends staying or coming into and out of our home throughout that weekend. Three separate groups of friends remembered my birthday and brought me treats. I will never forget the feeling of being loved and appreciated. I stood at the edge of my dining room table with everyone singing a loud rendition of "Happy Birthday." Giggles and gales of laughter at innocent "inside" joke references was included.
It was great, exciting and fun. I just felt funny; a little shaky, a little dizzy, a little sleepy. I don't drink or anything, so it wasn't that. I started to mention to my husband Matt that I didn't feel right. We just attributed it to all of the guests, late nights and general excitement. I had been known to pick up sore throats and sinus infections after long fun weekends with friends and little rest. Maybe I was getting sick? Well, I was.
Fast forward to The end of May 2006. Matt and I had a big trip to Italy planned. We prepared and left Pittsburgh
without incident. First stop was my favorite: Rome. I was tired...and hungry... But it was probably just jetlag and no time off from a stressful job as a intensive cognitive behavioral therapist for kids. Right?
Then there was the spremuta. No, I didn't make that word up. It's just the Italian word for fresh OJ. Never really was an Orange Juice fan, but the spremuta in Rome was so bountiful that I started each day with it, and craved it. Spremuta in the morning and a seemingly endless appetite. At one meal in particular, I am fairly certain that I ate more than ever in one sitting. Oh! and whole 1.5 liter bottles (or more) of sparkling water at each meal. On to Siena, Assisi and Florence. Sleeping late, being drowsy in the afternoon then going to bed early became the routine...wait, what ? It WAS vacation, I had an amazing world right outside my window that I had no intention of missing, but the need for rest often took over.
We returned to Pittsburgh. My work schedule was 11am-7pm. I struggled to wake up in the morning, often with 11 hours of sleep. I would turn in for the night at around 8pm. I was dragging, tired, listless, weird feeling. Still.so.hungry. Still.so.thirsty. I was scheduled to train, temporarily, in the adult clinic that was sister to the pediatric clinic where I worked full time. I was keen, as usual, to learn everything I could, but it was so hard. My eyes were blurry, My legs were in constant pain, my stomach hurt and I.was.starving. I came close to falling asleep while trying to help run a group session. I even, strangely, went to my car to take a break and actually fell asleep. My breathing was so weird...the taste in my mouth was so bad. Just trouble adjusting to being home from a big vacation, right? I forgot to bring lunch and cash one day and begged the vendor in our building to give me a turkey sandwich and a banana, stating that "I would pay them tomorrow." They obliged and I thanked them exclaiming, "I'm just so hungry!"
Yoo Hoo and Slurpees became the next craving...and, ugh, the mango salsa. Remember those drinks that were popular during the 1980's? I hadn't had either in about ten years...until we went on a long weekend to the beaches of North Carolina in mid June 2006. We drove from Pittsburgh to meet family for a few days in a great beach house we had rented. I had just visited the doctor for bronchitis with a concurrent UTI. I told her about the dry mouth, tiredness and funny breathing. She attributed it to the bronchitis. She told me I was "wheezing badly" and gave me some medication to help which I thought was responsible for making my mouth drier and taste even worse. While away I woke up every night with a mouth devoid of saliva. I would drink liters of Yoo Hoo from the stash that my Brother in Law brought. Matt and I thought this was extremely strange behavior for me, but I was just.so.thirsty. I was barreling toward critical illness with the remnants of Yoo Hoo trapped in my blood.
While trying to enjoy the trip I felt sicker hour by hour. The tasks of walking around, going to the beach and walking up stairs to the top of a lighthouse were overwhelming. One night, we made grilled fish with mango salsa for everyone. I was excited to try the new recipe. The voracious hunger described above turned to nausea. I was unable to finish the meal and the thought of it still makes me feel sick. On the way back from North Carolina we stopped many more times than usual so I could urinate profusely or drink fluids. Once for a root beer float for me...once for a giant slurpee for me...which I finished. Gross.
We got home. I wasn't getting better. Still waking up throughout the night to pee, drink something and to try to rub the pins and needles from my legs. Randomly sitting in warm baths trying to "wake up" my legs became common. I was in a fog. My main concerns were drinking water, peeing, resting and trying to get the horrendous taste out of my mouth. Interestingly, Matt said one night, "Do you think you have Diabetes?" I said "no, that's silly...I would have passed out by now." By then it was the end of June and I made another doctor's appointment. I told the receptionist all of my classic symptoms, she gave me an appointment for the next week. I was all set for Tuesday June 27th. I never made it to the appointment.
My husband was scheduled to travel for work on June 26. I made the last minute decision to fly home on June 23, to my parent's in NY, for my Aunt's 70th birthday party. Good thing I did, I might have been home by myself in Pittsburgh for about 36 hours before the scheduled doctor's appointment. I continued to feel extremely sick in NY. On Saturday June 24, 2006 my dad and I went shopping for my mom's 60th birthday party that was planned for a few weeks from then. I had lost weight by this time and was so tired that I sat on a store shelf to rest. I wouldn't bat an eye at a four year old doing this, but I was 27!
When we got back to the house in mid afternoon, I just rested on the couch. Both of my parents thought this was strange. My mom, a Type 1 and my dad, a Type 2 Diabetic had blood glucose meters handy. My mom tested me on both. The meters just read "High," which meant >600mg/dL, aka higher than the meters could detect. Off we went to the emergency room. The hospital was quite an experience, which I will recount later. It's fortunate that my parents tested my blood sugar, and I wasn't alone. When I told one of the doctors that I had made an appointment for Tuesday, she said "If you waited for it, you wouldn't have survived."
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