I was eating so much , that it didn’t make sense for why I was still getting slimmer and slimmer. I was getting very thin. Everyone was worried. I know my mum took me to the doctor at least once before. I remember the doctor saying “She has always been skinny. The frequent drinking could be a habit she’s picked up.”
I don’t blame my doctor. In fact, she was the best doctor I had ever had. This was just a slip up. My mum said she did in fact test my urine that day. She even sent it off to the labs for further testing. It came back fine. There was nothing she could have done.
So things, got worse. I got skinnier. Thirstier. Hungrier. I thought I was fine. I kept on going. I turned 11. My mum took me to see the doctor again. She said she’d had enough and wanted further tests. She said something wasn’t right. I looked like I was wasting away. Nobody really knew that it's because I was. So she took me. I peed in a bottle again, like I did all those months ago, and we sat down with my doctor.
This time was different. She told my mum to take me to hospital right away. There would be people waiting for me. And there was.
They put me in a wheelchair. I thought this was overly dramatic because I felt fine. I remember that my first finger prick, was that day. I was in hospital for a week. I was on a drip due to severe dehydration. I don’t remember the “you have type 1 diabetes” revelation. It’s probably just as well. The specialist told my parents that my life, and consequently their's, was about to change forever. I know that he told them that if they hadn’t brought me in when they had, that I wouldn’t have made it to the end of the week. That’s real. That’s hard-hitting.