Lucy, 21
August '05: I was 15, had a wonderful group of friends, a boyfriend, lead roles in plays and was doing really well in school. The year leading up to my illness was the happiest of my life. But with all the wonderful things I also carried a great deal of insecurity. That summer, whilst away with family at a cousin's wedding, one day I just didn't take my Lantus. I'm not completely sure why I didn't, but I recall I'd read about having higher blood sugars lead to weight loss. For the past year, in particular the last 7-8 months I'd been cutting down a lot on food and weight-loss was certainly at the forefront of my mind. The way I felt empty after having to drink a lot, then use the toilet, I liked. Being young and naive I wasn't thinking about the future, or the potential consequences of my actions.
September '05: I had been restricting my insulin considerably for the last month, teachers were concerned of my weight loss and my energy was nothing compared to what I'd had. During the night I was up multiple times, sometimes every hour, needing to use the toilet and drink yet more water. However, I did not start taking my insulin again. Being in such a bad state of mind due to being so tired meant that I got consumed by the illness, and trapped in the downwards spiral that took over my life.
25th September '05: Admitted to hospital with DKA. I almost died. If I could write the pain I saw in my Dad's face when he told me this, I would. I'll never forget it. I stayed in intensive care for a few days and then transferred to a normal ward for a week. Once I got home, I thought things would be ok. But I wasn't in the habit of looking after my diabetes alone. I was weak and quickly slipped back into restricting my insulin. My time spent living with 'diabulimia' was a haze of exhaustion, endless doctor and hospital appointments and misunderstanding from those around me. Those in the mental health profession told me I was everything but what I was telling them. Parents didn't understand that I wasn't strong enough to make myself well, that my moods and irrationality were due to dizzying blood sugar levels. My hair was falling out, I was getting one infection after another and was in constant amazement at how others, such as my friends in sixth form, managed to keep it all so together. People knew what the problem was - I knew what the problem was - but none of us knew how to solve it. Inside I was still me, dying to get out. But my failing body and shattered mind couldn't bring things together. Most of the time I just wanted to be hugged and told that I would have someone there to fight this demon with me. Be told that someone understood. Easter '06: Another spell in hospital for yet another complication due to my illness. After this one something in me changed. I knew for certain I didn't want this life anymore, I truly wanted to recover. But, still, I was shunted from one health 'professional' to another. They frustrated me, not listening to me and diagnosing me from a textbook. Low weight? Anorexic. Getting rid of food by excessive means? Bulimic. But consistently high sugars? No, they didn't deal with that. Their books said nothing of that. So there was a constant battle going on inside my head, trying to get back on track but still being too weak to do it alone.
January '07: After struggling through the previous year and deciding to re-take my first year of a-levels I was still fighting my illness. I was managing to take more insulin than I had been, but it still wasn't enough. However, I was noticing some cloudiness around the edges of my sight, but since it wasn't immediate I wasn't sure if I was imagining things. However, I had to wear my glasses in all of my lessons to be able to read the board properly, which I had never had to before. A visit to the opticians resulted in a referral to the eye clinic at the hospital, just to see what was going on as he'd noticed something - he said it was most likely just an infection which would clear up with tablets. Actually, it was cataracts. I was told it was unlikely I would get an operation for months. In the meantime I was ready, really ready and beyond tired of not living my life, of relying on the doctors to help. So I made an appointment with my diabetic doctor. Throughout my illness she had been very understanding, but she, also, did not know what action to take. I told her I wanted inpatient care, in an eating disorder clinic. It was the only way I saw of getting the routine and stability I so desperately needed. She listened and did her best for me. The work my diabetic doctor did for me, particularly with this, I will always be grateful for. Meetings were set up and I was lucky enough to be told a place would be available for me by June of that year. Hope.
Easter '07: I woke up and could not see. The cataracts had slowly been metabolizing over the past few months, but drastically overnight, they had become much worse. I could no longer read. This meant I could no longer attend sixth form. Devastated. Time passed slowly, but I had a lot of time to think, and build hope for the future I was going to make for myself. Without being able to see well, I could not analyze myself in the mirror. I did injections, although still not enough insulin, but still more than I had been. I was looking forward to getting my life back and one day, being able to see. Although I knew it could be months. Not long afterwards my mother informed me that she'd been rung by the hospital and that my eye doctor was able to perform my eye operation early May, in just a couple of weeks. This was amazing news, it meant that I wouldn't have to go into in-patient care without being able to see.
May '07: I had to be admitted to hospital a week before the operation was to be done, to regulate my sugars so it was safe. My time in hospital, that week, gave me so much strength. I was no longer in control of my insulin, but the people who knew what they were doing were. I was given a routine and some structure. I was surrounded by old ladies who were so ill and thought to myself 'I've got my whole life ahead of me yet'. I was able to sleep through the night. My operation was a success and I felt so strong. I felt I had been given exactly what I needed to beat the illness. After much thought I made the decision not to go into the eating disorder clinic. It took a lot of persuading (and for once I am grateful of this) but I wanted to live and finally get on with my life. I felt that being surrounded by others with issues with food wouldn't be beneficial to me, however I don't think it would have done me any harm in the long run by no means. I had such hope and determination. I overheard one phone conversation in particular, where I heard 'she'll just end up dead’. I proved him wrong. It was a struggle at times but I knew I was going to make it. Finally I was able to think with a clear mind, think about what I wanted to do and actually be able to do it. I have now been in recovery for 3 and a half years, currently in my second year at university studying math. Oh, and I got discharged from the eye clinic last Thursday. I want to be able to give the hope I have to others who are in a similar situation to the one I was in, because it really is there.
September '05: I had been restricting my insulin considerably for the last month, teachers were concerned of my weight loss and my energy was nothing compared to what I'd had. During the night I was up multiple times, sometimes every hour, needing to use the toilet and drink yet more water. However, I did not start taking my insulin again. Being in such a bad state of mind due to being so tired meant that I got consumed by the illness, and trapped in the downwards spiral that took over my life.
25th September '05: Admitted to hospital with DKA. I almost died. If I could write the pain I saw in my Dad's face when he told me this, I would. I'll never forget it. I stayed in intensive care for a few days and then transferred to a normal ward for a week. Once I got home, I thought things would be ok. But I wasn't in the habit of looking after my diabetes alone. I was weak and quickly slipped back into restricting my insulin. My time spent living with 'diabulimia' was a haze of exhaustion, endless doctor and hospital appointments and misunderstanding from those around me. Those in the mental health profession told me I was everything but what I was telling them. Parents didn't understand that I wasn't strong enough to make myself well, that my moods and irrationality were due to dizzying blood sugar levels. My hair was falling out, I was getting one infection after another and was in constant amazement at how others, such as my friends in sixth form, managed to keep it all so together. People knew what the problem was - I knew what the problem was - but none of us knew how to solve it. Inside I was still me, dying to get out. But my failing body and shattered mind couldn't bring things together. Most of the time I just wanted to be hugged and told that I would have someone there to fight this demon with me. Be told that someone understood. Easter '06: Another spell in hospital for yet another complication due to my illness. After this one something in me changed. I knew for certain I didn't want this life anymore, I truly wanted to recover. But, still, I was shunted from one health 'professional' to another. They frustrated me, not listening to me and diagnosing me from a textbook. Low weight? Anorexic. Getting rid of food by excessive means? Bulimic. But consistently high sugars? No, they didn't deal with that. Their books said nothing of that. So there was a constant battle going on inside my head, trying to get back on track but still being too weak to do it alone.
January '07: After struggling through the previous year and deciding to re-take my first year of a-levels I was still fighting my illness. I was managing to take more insulin than I had been, but it still wasn't enough. However, I was noticing some cloudiness around the edges of my sight, but since it wasn't immediate I wasn't sure if I was imagining things. However, I had to wear my glasses in all of my lessons to be able to read the board properly, which I had never had to before. A visit to the opticians resulted in a referral to the eye clinic at the hospital, just to see what was going on as he'd noticed something - he said it was most likely just an infection which would clear up with tablets. Actually, it was cataracts. I was told it was unlikely I would get an operation for months. In the meantime I was ready, really ready and beyond tired of not living my life, of relying on the doctors to help. So I made an appointment with my diabetic doctor. Throughout my illness she had been very understanding, but she, also, did not know what action to take. I told her I wanted inpatient care, in an eating disorder clinic. It was the only way I saw of getting the routine and stability I so desperately needed. She listened and did her best for me. The work my diabetic doctor did for me, particularly with this, I will always be grateful for. Meetings were set up and I was lucky enough to be told a place would be available for me by June of that year. Hope.
Easter '07: I woke up and could not see. The cataracts had slowly been metabolizing over the past few months, but drastically overnight, they had become much worse. I could no longer read. This meant I could no longer attend sixth form. Devastated. Time passed slowly, but I had a lot of time to think, and build hope for the future I was going to make for myself. Without being able to see well, I could not analyze myself in the mirror. I did injections, although still not enough insulin, but still more than I had been. I was looking forward to getting my life back and one day, being able to see. Although I knew it could be months. Not long afterwards my mother informed me that she'd been rung by the hospital and that my eye doctor was able to perform my eye operation early May, in just a couple of weeks. This was amazing news, it meant that I wouldn't have to go into in-patient care without being able to see.
May '07: I had to be admitted to hospital a week before the operation was to be done, to regulate my sugars so it was safe. My time in hospital, that week, gave me so much strength. I was no longer in control of my insulin, but the people who knew what they were doing were. I was given a routine and some structure. I was surrounded by old ladies who were so ill and thought to myself 'I've got my whole life ahead of me yet'. I was able to sleep through the night. My operation was a success and I felt so strong. I felt I had been given exactly what I needed to beat the illness. After much thought I made the decision not to go into the eating disorder clinic. It took a lot of persuading (and for once I am grateful of this) but I wanted to live and finally get on with my life. I felt that being surrounded by others with issues with food wouldn't be beneficial to me, however I don't think it would have done me any harm in the long run by no means. I had such hope and determination. I overheard one phone conversation in particular, where I heard 'she'll just end up dead’. I proved him wrong. It was a struggle at times but I knew I was going to make it. Finally I was able to think with a clear mind, think about what I wanted to do and actually be able to do it. I have now been in recovery for 3 and a half years, currently in my second year at university studying math. Oh, and I got discharged from the eye clinic last Thursday. I want to be able to give the hope I have to others who are in a similar situation to the one I was in, because it really is there.