Perspective

07/02/08 Type I Diabetes or Juvenile Diabetes

I recently celebrated my 30th birthday. For some of my friends turning this corner has been a rather earth-shattering event, causing them to “wake up” to the realization that they are, indeed, getting older. I don’t feel this way. I won’t say that it’s “just another year,” because 30 is a milestone, but it certainly isn’t earth-shattering, not by comparison. Not when you are a carefree 12-year-old one day, and then completely beholden to a disease the very next. That forces you to wake up and take notice. That entirely alters your perspective.

I have had type 1 diabetes longer than I have not. I remember at 24 being able to say that I’d lived an equal split. Not now. No, my diabetes self has gained six years on that boy from my past, the one I barely remember. However, as my wife prepared retrospective collages for display during my party, I saw a lot of him. It is difficult for me to do so and not consider how the disease has altered not just my physical but also my mental composition.

At 12 years old I became responsible for monitoring my blood glucose levels, injecting insulin, controlling food proportions, and being aware of my body’s warning signs. I learned a new language of mg/dl and cc and Regular and NPH. I grew up as quickly as my pancreas gave out. One image that keeps surfacing as an emblem of that loss of innocence: the absence of my smile. The pictures my wife has so carefully arranged clearly demonstrate a cherub-faced, brightly beaming child, who transforms into a gaunt, serious, and burdened young man. My unwanted knowledge forced me to see the world in a stark, fluorescent, medical office light. Gone was the rose-colored hue of childhood.

This has set me apart from my peers. Not just because of my restrictions and medical protocol, but also because of my inability to shrug off responsibility. This has been a mixed blessing. It has forced me to become ruthlessly independent, and in turn has crippled my ability to let go of anything. Someone who is “responsible” is always responsible. Although I made the classic mistakes as an adolescent, I always kept myself healthy because in my mind, there was no option.

I imagine a “diabetes-free” version of me would be much more happy-go-lucky and able to move through this life with all the enthusiasm that I wish I could. However, I cannot be certain this would be true, as life inevitably hands us a difficult card or two. I’ve witnessed a number of adults crumble in the face of adversity because of their lack of experience or utter inability to cope. Coping is all I know. Sure, I’d rather be a brightly smiling life of the party, but when push comes to shove, I’m terribly good to have around.

In the end, it’s all speculation. Who I might have been doesn’t truly matter nearly as much as whom I have become. I’m proud of the man created within these 30 years, especially the last 18. Diabetes is a significant part of me and has stripped from and supplied me with the most valuable tool in life; perspective. I have experienced both sides of the coin and know with certainty that you need each in order to be whole.

Eric Devine, 30, has lived with type 1 diabetes since he was 12. He lives in upstate New York with his wife and two daughters where he works as a high school English teacher. Devine is an avid writer and is currently seeking publication of two Young Adult novel manuscripts.