Nicole, 26
I was 14 when everything started to change. I was playing in my summer soccer league, getting ready to start my 10th grade year of high school. My mother thought it was odd that I was guzzling two big Gatorades down, and then still asking for more. On top of that, I was shaking, it was 80 degrees out. Later that evening I began to vomit. Ahhh, the flu, that’s what my mom said so she gave me flattened soda to calm my stomach. Little did we know this was making my situation worse. All night I vomited, my stomach was cramping from vomiting, I kept shaking. I felt like death.
The next morning, my 15th birthday, my brothers went to school, my mother and father had left for work, and I stayed home because of the “flu.” I called my mother crying because my stomach was hurting and cramping so badly, I was covered in blankets from shivering, and it was hot as hell out. She just said I was dehydrated and to try and drink some water. Finally, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a skeleton, I have never seen myself this way before and I honestly thought to myself I was going to die. Within five minutes, my dad came home from work because he had forgotten his hat. Later we found out from the doctors that if he never came home I would have been dead.
When I saw my father I immediately told him I think I needed to go to the hospital. At that moment, we both realized something was wrong, this isn’t the flu. My dad knew I was serious when I walked out of the house in sweatpants and no make-up on. I didn’t care, I needed help. When we arrived at the emergency room, I barely walked through the door. My body was failing. A nurse had seen me walking towards the emergency room doors barely hanging on. They brought a wheel chair out to me and I immediately collapsed. I knew I was going to be ok. I tried to cry, nothing came out, I was severely dehydrated, my mouth was dried shut, it stuck together like glue. All that I had was skin and bones.
I wish I could remember everything but I can’t. All I remember the nurses saying is “She’s a Type I Diabetic, her sugar is 980, she’s in Diabetic Ketoacidosis, she needs to be life-flighted to the Children’s Hospital.” I remember my parents crying, my grandmother rushing in crying, all I could think is, “What does that mean?” I remember them placing me in the helicopter, but I don’t remember the ride. They said I was in and out of it, barely hanging on. I had IV’s coming out of everywhere and I was hooked up to every machine imaginable, but deep down I knew I was going to be alright. When I arrived to the children’s hospital I was placed in ICU. And so it began….Happy Birthday to me.
After I slept for a while the nurses came in to talk to me and my mother. “Sweetie, you have Type I Diabetes.” Wait… What!? What is that!? Of course I have heard of Diabetes, but only the kind you get when you are old, overweight and don’t eat well. That wasn’t me. I was 15, not overweight, I ate well, and I was physically active. The nurses explained to me that I did nothing to myself that caused this. It was an autoimmune disease, meaning my body attacked itself probably when I had walking pneumonia a few months back, and that I no longer can produce insulin on my own, that I would have to take insulin needles for the rest of my life. Wait.. WHAT!? NEEDLES?! I’M PETRIFIED OF NEEDLES! “You also have to test your blood sugar 3-5 times a day, and eat a balanced diet so your blood sugar can stay in control.” But, but, but.. and then the tears fell. I think I felt sorry for myself for a good 5 minutes, but I wiped them away and listened to what they had to say. I stayed in ICU for 7 days, they gave me fluids and pumped my body back up to a healthy weight. I was then transferred to a regular floor where I had a 7-day course on how to manage my diabetes, count carbohydrates, know, and understand every single part about Type I Diabetes. I was scared. My life now revolved around counting food, figuring out what I am going to eat in my next meal, how many carbs that was, and how many insulin units to take to cover it.
When I was first diagnosed with Diabetes, I took very good care of myself. I ate well, exercised, took all of my insulin and tested 3-5 times as recommended. Eventually, after 6 months, I got an insulin pump so I would no longer have to do injections 5 times a day. I thought it would be good for me, but in high school people like to tease. “Why does she wear a beeper in school? Why does it beep all the time?” I was embarrassed. Just as quickly as I got my pump, I took it off, never to be seen again. However, I still took my insulin shots as needed.
Finally, it was time for college. I was ready to be independent, live on my own, and take care of myself without someone asking, “Did you take your insulin, did you test, hey maybe you shouldn’t eat that Nicole.” I was finally having my chance to prove I could do it on my own, I was 17. In the beginning I was doing great, but then for some unexplainable reason, I started to obsess about my appearance. I was never nearly overweight. I was never fat. This is why I am not sure what triggered my Diabulimia.
During college I was working full-time, taking four courses, enjoying spending my extra time with my friends. My grades were excellent, but in the midst of all of this, I slowly put my diabetes on the back burner. Not on purpose, not because I wanted to lose weight, but because I was busy. Sometimes I would forget a nighttime insulin shot, sometimes I would forget to test, and sometimes I even forgot to eat during the day. What I did find out was that if I missed a shot here or there I would wake up in the morning with a flat stomach.
As time went on I would push it. What happens if I don’t take my shot for dinner and skip my nighttime? I soon came to find out that I would literally pee all day, sometimes 4 times an hour. I was constantly thirsty and tired, but I didn’t care. I was losing pounds a day, just from purging through urination. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of it all, and this wasn’t even the worst of it.
I never told my roommates what I was doing to myself. They couldn’t believe their eyes how much weight I had lost just within a few days. They also didn’t notice that I haven’t taken all of my insulin in the past week. But they did notice I haven’t gone to work or class in the past few days and I was literally sleeping all day. Then they heard me vomit. My roommates finally said they were taking me to the hospital. I was put in ICU for a few days to get my body back to a stable condition, and put right back into the real world to deal with it all again. I was hospitalized another 2 times while in college. Still, keeping it all a secret with myself.
The doctors put me as non-compliant, in denial about having Diabetes. I’ve been through a bunch of doctors because they all would write me off. “How can I help someone who doesn’t want to help themself?” And then on to the next doctor. They would get irritated with my Hemoglobin A1C’s over 15 every 3 months. They gave up on me. They never once questioned why I didn’t want to take all of my insulin, and why I kept doing this to myself. The truth of it all, I was screaming for help. My body was screaming for help. I just kept it all inside. I put on a fake smile and continued my days drinking soda, sleeping, peeing, drinking, peeing some more, but I felt my hip bones, my face was shrunken in, and that was all that mattered. The more I ate, the higher my sugar would go, and the faster the weight would fall off. My friends couldn’t understand how I could eat so much, and such awful foods, but still lose several pounds a week.
To be honest, I didn’t know the consequences then. Of course I would hear the occasional. “well you will see when your toes fall off or when your leg has to get amputated.” But I brushed it off. That would never happen to me. I’m invincible. I even remember saying to myself, “I don’t care if I’m 50 with no toes, at least I look good now.” Once again, my image was all that mattered to me.
Eventually, I graduated college with a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice, and did my internship working at the coroner’s office in Harrisburg. I even did an autopsy on a Type I diabetic who killed herself by taking an extremely high dose of insulin before she passed away. She was missing a leg, but even that didn’t scare me.
I moved back home, got a full time job as a TSS worker, and applied to Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine to get my Masters degree in Forensic Medicine. At this point in life, I roughly had been in and out of the hospital 2 more times for DKA. Throughout the year I promised myself I wanted to get better. I could no longer do this to myself. I needed to change. That would last for a day until I gained back all the weight I had lost, and ended up repeating the vicious cycle again. Take your insulin once a day and you will stay out of the hospital. That was my motto. But even one insulin shot a day doesn’t help, especially if your sick with bronchitis.
Bronchitis put me over the edge. I ended up in DKA again. The mixture of not taking most of my insulin, plus being sick sent my blood sugar soaring. ICU for a few days repeated by being on a regular floor for another few days. Two weeks later I got pneumonia. Back into the hospital with DKA. AGAIN. I eventually lost my job. I had no money, I took school loans out to support myself, and even those couldn’t keep me afloat. I lost my car because I couldn’t afford it, and I failed out of my Masters program from missing so much time. My life was spiraling out of control. I had no control over it. But I did have control over my weight, and I obsessed about it.
I did live on my own and to this day still do not think that was the greatest idea. It just meant the more I can give in to my sickness of eating as much food as possible without anyone seeing me, and purging through urination constantly. I didn’t have anyone around to notice it. It was just me, myself, and I, and no one else to comment on it. Sometimes I would just eat snickers bars in a row because I knew in the morning that meant more pounds down. But as much as I got high off the fact that I was losing weight, I was depressed. Yes, I was skinny, but I felt like shit.
At this point I still did not have a job, my hair started to fall out in the shower, my skin was dry, I had thrush in my mouth, yeast infections, I would sleep, eat, and pee most of the day, if I got up from my bed the whole room would turn black, my muscles ached for some water, and if I walked a flight of stairs my heart would race and I would have to sit to take a break. I didn’t care; I sat in my own self-pity for months between the diabulimia and the debt up to my eyeballs. I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t even want to live. I stopped taking any sort of insulin and within two days I was in a coma.
I knew what I was doing to myself but I couldn’t hold on anymore. I hit rock bottom. I called my mom because I was vomiting all night. She picked me up and rushed me to the hospital. We were finally in a room after about an hour of vomiting in the waiting room. They had me set up to the monitors because my heart rate was 160, and that was while lying still on the bed. I remember my mom getting wet paper towels to rub on my lips because they were dried together and shut. I remember vomiting all over the floor because I couldn’t even get up to the bathroom that was in the same room as me. I also remember when I started to hallucinate. I was calling my mother my ex’s name, and told her I was going to Tuesday night Bingo (I never play bingo.) I remember saying I was playing a video game and from that point on I was out. My mother told me that I began ripping my IV’s out of my arm, saying I was going to my friends house and that I couldn’t be there anymore. She said I peed all over myself and they had to strap me to the bed. Eventually I went into a coma. I remember seeing a bright white light. I remember the nurses talking to me, but I couldn’t respond. After a few hours, and what seemed like a few minutes to me, I came out of it. I looked to the right of me and all I saw was my mother crying and saying, “She’s up, oh my god, she’s up.” My heart sunk. What have I done? How could I do this to my mother?
I woke up to a catheter in me, nurses surrounding me, and my mother crying. My mother told me everything that happened and how they had to take her out of the room because I became so violent. The scary part was I don’t remember anything. Another set of nurses came in to put a line right next to my collar bone because they couldn’t take blood from my veins because I was so dehydrated. I was in ICU for a week, and then transferred to a step-down unit for a few days and eventually a regular room for the last 3 days. I promised myself again I would take care of myself, not for me, but for my family because I never wanted them to experience that again.
I was doing well, but I was gaining weight. The doctors explained to me the water weight would go away within a few weeks but I didn’t believe them. I was blowing up like a balloon and I couldn’t fit in anything I owned. I started to omit again. I did take my night time insulin and about 2-3 shots of insulin a day. Although I wasn’t doing everything perfectly, I was still taking insulin, and just enough so I wouldn’t get nauseous and I was maintaining my weight at a reasonable weight to me at the time.
A year after I had failed out of my master’s degree program, I applied again and started to gain a better outlook on my life. I was still omitting, but I could focus just enough to get good grades. I started to be more sociable with my friends and began to go out with them on the weekends. I finally started to enjoy life again. It wasn’t just me. But, although I was enjoying life now, I was still omitting. I was skinny, and I was getting attention. People noticed the weight loss, asking how did you do it? I just told them I went to the gym. I was. I was omitting and going to the gym which meant I would lose weight even faster.
One night, while out with my friends, I ran into Ryan. Ryan is my best guy friend from high school’s older brother (MAKE SENSE?!) I actually went to prom with Ryans brother Kevin, and Kevin always knew I thought Ryan was cute. After a few words were exchanged, some facebooking, and agreeing to hang out, Ryan and I officially were a couple, and I was never so happy in my life. He was perfect. He treated me good, unlike past boyfriends, and he was so sweet. However, he had no idea what I was doing to myself. He knew I was Diabetic, but to be truthful, he didn’t even know what that meant.
As time went on, I got another TSS job, got another car, and slowly started to pay off my debt. But, I was still omitting. My skin always itchy, I had constant yeast infections,acetone breath (tasted like metal In my mouth) and sometimes I wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed in the morning, eventually I ended up in the hospital again. Ryan never saw me like this, in ICU, hooked to IV needles, he was scared and I could tell. I realized I needed to tell Ryan. “I have an eating disorder and I need help”. It was the first time I ever told anyone. But by telling that one person it felt like a million bricks off of my back. At first, he didn’t know how to respond. But with a heart of gold he pretty much said that he didn’t understand but he wanted to know all about it. He wanted to help me, and he wanted me to get better. I also wanted to get better, I never wanted to see that look on his face again. He had millions of questions and kinds words to say, “Why can’t you just take your insulin?, your beautiful just the way you are, I don’t care if you’ll gain weight.” I just told him that its hard for him to understand because he’s not in the grips of a mental eating disorder. Something upstairs isn’t right. I have this dysmorphic view of my body and I wish I could change it but I can’t. I’m fat, I’m a slob, and I know that if I skip my insulin shots I can lose weight.
Some days were better than others. Most of the time Ryan would ask if I took my insulin, or he would remind me to take it. If I simply stated no, he didn’t yell at me. He kindly said it would make him feel better if I took it because he knew I was healthy. Eventually, I started to take more shots. I also noticed what a difference there was in me when I did. I had more energy, my mouth didn’t taste like metal, my legs didn’t itch and sting, and my mood swings went away. I even started to get my period regularly. Before, I wouldn’t get my period at all. However, I would still omit a shot here and there. I would always make an excuse up to Ryan as to why I wanted to lose more weight. After the cruise hunnie, I promise I will start taking all of my insulin. I don’t want to look huge in my bathing suit. After the cruise had come and gone, I wanted to stay thin for the summer if I had to be in my bikini the whole time, or Bev’s wedding is coming and I don’t want to be huge so I promise after that. No matter what, I always had an excuse.
In August 2010 I graduated from PCOM, and Ryan and I were engaged! Christmas came and gone and we were going on with our everyday lives. In January 2011 I got a job as a college professor teaching anatomy and physiology. The following summer I applied to the college I graduated from and still continue, to this day, to teach there as well, and at both places. I love my job and I love my life, but I hated the fact that my weight consumed every part of me. Every single thought in my head revolved around food. I couldn’t take it anymore. This had to stop.
I was preparing my body in July to go through a tonsillectomy surgery. I made myself take my night time insulin every night for a week straight so I would not end up with an infection in my mouth after the surgery. Slowly during that week, I noticed I had even more energy. No I did not take my slow acting insulin, but I was still taking my night time insulin. Oddly enough, I was still losing weight but I felt healthier. My surgery went great and I continued to take my night time insulin.
As the days passed by I slowly started to introduce my short acting insulin. I would gain weight but not as much as I used to. I told Ryan I didn’t want to gain weight for the wedding this upcoming October, and after taking my night time insulin only, my weight started to fly right off. I would get a high every time I stepped on the scale and saw more pounds gone. Although I felt a little bit better, it wasn’t enough. My wedding day was absolutely perfect. The best day of my life. But…. I was still a diabulimic, and I needed help, my own wedding dress was taken in 4 times and it was still big on me on my wedding day.
My next excuse was that I didn’t want to be huge for our honeymoon, which was two months later. We were going to Mexico, which means…. Bikinis, drinking, and sun. I took my night time insulin but never my day time. I had a blast on my honeymoon but I was always eating, peeing, and drinking. This had to stop. I was thin, but I was sick.
I know I have said this before, but this time I promised Ryan that was the last straw. I need to get better and I will get better. I would never be able to have a child with my blood sugars ranging in the 400-500’s all of the time. My body just won’t let it happen. I started to realize this isn’t just about me anymore. This is about Ryan, our children, this is about US. I need to do this for US. Ryan has been so patient with me through everything. Never raising his voice or getting mad. Never judging, just supporting me with every fiber of his body. He’s a saint and he’s my rock. If he never came into my life, I know without a doubt, I would be dead somewhere. He has saved my life. I’m a person now. I am Me.
2 weeks ago I started to take every insulin shot, test 3-5 times a day, and eat a healthy balanced meal. My last hemoblogin A1c was an 11, which is an improvement in the right direction. The doctor said I need to be between a 5-6 in order to attempt to have a child but I’m willing to do it. I have to do it! I am determined.
Since starting my insulin perfectly for the past two weeks I have noticed a few changes. 1. I can sleep at night without getting up to pee,2. I am not exhausted all of the time, 3. No more yeast infections, 4. No more thrush in my mouth, 5, no more itchy skin, 6. My hair doesn’t fall out, 7. My mouth isn’t dry, 8. I have more energy, 9. I can think straight, 10. I feel like a person. Because I am taking care of myself, eating properly, and not sucking down as much soda as I can possibly fit into my stomach, I actually didn’t gain any weight. I believe this was due to the re-introduction of my insulin at a slow pace, so my body had time to get used to it. I feel AMAZING!
Today, I wrote this with the intention to tell my story. I added all of the other information because I think its only right to mention the people who have supported me along the way. The road to recovery is not perfect, and it is something you cannot do on your own. Eventually, my family started to understand that I had an eating disorder and I that it just wasn’t me not wanting to take care of myself. I couldn’t take care of myself, I had this eating disorder muddled mind who only saw that a skinny figure was acceptable. I am starting to see that if I gain a few pounds, who cares! I have a husband who loves me with everything inside of him. I have friends who have supported me along the way, my family who encourages me everyday to do better, and an amazing job that anyone could want.
I also want to give a shout out because I would not be where I am now without my “Diabulimia Helpline” group of facebook friends. You know who you are, and I love each and everyone one of you. Your support and encouragement has pushed me in the right direction. A special thank you to Sian Howarth who has recently passed away due to Diabetes complications. Her passing also had a huge impact on my recovery. She was always an inspiration to talk to, she was doing so well herself. I never thought in a million years I would feel I lost a part of me over someone who I met over the internet. Truly Truly Truly a huge inspiration to me and towards my recovery.
So now I begin my journey…. I will be setting up a blog so feel free to follow. I hope this story can help all you ladies out there. If you are struggling, please look to someone for help. “Choose Life. “
The next morning, my 15th birthday, my brothers went to school, my mother and father had left for work, and I stayed home because of the “flu.” I called my mother crying because my stomach was hurting and cramping so badly, I was covered in blankets from shivering, and it was hot as hell out. She just said I was dehydrated and to try and drink some water. Finally, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a skeleton, I have never seen myself this way before and I honestly thought to myself I was going to die. Within five minutes, my dad came home from work because he had forgotten his hat. Later we found out from the doctors that if he never came home I would have been dead.
When I saw my father I immediately told him I think I needed to go to the hospital. At that moment, we both realized something was wrong, this isn’t the flu. My dad knew I was serious when I walked out of the house in sweatpants and no make-up on. I didn’t care, I needed help. When we arrived at the emergency room, I barely walked through the door. My body was failing. A nurse had seen me walking towards the emergency room doors barely hanging on. They brought a wheel chair out to me and I immediately collapsed. I knew I was going to be ok. I tried to cry, nothing came out, I was severely dehydrated, my mouth was dried shut, it stuck together like glue. All that I had was skin and bones.
I wish I could remember everything but I can’t. All I remember the nurses saying is “She’s a Type I Diabetic, her sugar is 980, she’s in Diabetic Ketoacidosis, she needs to be life-flighted to the Children’s Hospital.” I remember my parents crying, my grandmother rushing in crying, all I could think is, “What does that mean?” I remember them placing me in the helicopter, but I don’t remember the ride. They said I was in and out of it, barely hanging on. I had IV’s coming out of everywhere and I was hooked up to every machine imaginable, but deep down I knew I was going to be alright. When I arrived to the children’s hospital I was placed in ICU. And so it began….Happy Birthday to me.
After I slept for a while the nurses came in to talk to me and my mother. “Sweetie, you have Type I Diabetes.” Wait… What!? What is that!? Of course I have heard of Diabetes, but only the kind you get when you are old, overweight and don’t eat well. That wasn’t me. I was 15, not overweight, I ate well, and I was physically active. The nurses explained to me that I did nothing to myself that caused this. It was an autoimmune disease, meaning my body attacked itself probably when I had walking pneumonia a few months back, and that I no longer can produce insulin on my own, that I would have to take insulin needles for the rest of my life. Wait.. WHAT!? NEEDLES?! I’M PETRIFIED OF NEEDLES! “You also have to test your blood sugar 3-5 times a day, and eat a balanced diet so your blood sugar can stay in control.” But, but, but.. and then the tears fell. I think I felt sorry for myself for a good 5 minutes, but I wiped them away and listened to what they had to say. I stayed in ICU for 7 days, they gave me fluids and pumped my body back up to a healthy weight. I was then transferred to a regular floor where I had a 7-day course on how to manage my diabetes, count carbohydrates, know, and understand every single part about Type I Diabetes. I was scared. My life now revolved around counting food, figuring out what I am going to eat in my next meal, how many carbs that was, and how many insulin units to take to cover it.
When I was first diagnosed with Diabetes, I took very good care of myself. I ate well, exercised, took all of my insulin and tested 3-5 times as recommended. Eventually, after 6 months, I got an insulin pump so I would no longer have to do injections 5 times a day. I thought it would be good for me, but in high school people like to tease. “Why does she wear a beeper in school? Why does it beep all the time?” I was embarrassed. Just as quickly as I got my pump, I took it off, never to be seen again. However, I still took my insulin shots as needed.
Finally, it was time for college. I was ready to be independent, live on my own, and take care of myself without someone asking, “Did you take your insulin, did you test, hey maybe you shouldn’t eat that Nicole.” I was finally having my chance to prove I could do it on my own, I was 17. In the beginning I was doing great, but then for some unexplainable reason, I started to obsess about my appearance. I was never nearly overweight. I was never fat. This is why I am not sure what triggered my Diabulimia.
During college I was working full-time, taking four courses, enjoying spending my extra time with my friends. My grades were excellent, but in the midst of all of this, I slowly put my diabetes on the back burner. Not on purpose, not because I wanted to lose weight, but because I was busy. Sometimes I would forget a nighttime insulin shot, sometimes I would forget to test, and sometimes I even forgot to eat during the day. What I did find out was that if I missed a shot here or there I would wake up in the morning with a flat stomach.
As time went on I would push it. What happens if I don’t take my shot for dinner and skip my nighttime? I soon came to find out that I would literally pee all day, sometimes 4 times an hour. I was constantly thirsty and tired, but I didn’t care. I was losing pounds a day, just from purging through urination. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of it all, and this wasn’t even the worst of it.
I never told my roommates what I was doing to myself. They couldn’t believe their eyes how much weight I had lost just within a few days. They also didn’t notice that I haven’t taken all of my insulin in the past week. But they did notice I haven’t gone to work or class in the past few days and I was literally sleeping all day. Then they heard me vomit. My roommates finally said they were taking me to the hospital. I was put in ICU for a few days to get my body back to a stable condition, and put right back into the real world to deal with it all again. I was hospitalized another 2 times while in college. Still, keeping it all a secret with myself.
The doctors put me as non-compliant, in denial about having Diabetes. I’ve been through a bunch of doctors because they all would write me off. “How can I help someone who doesn’t want to help themself?” And then on to the next doctor. They would get irritated with my Hemoglobin A1C’s over 15 every 3 months. They gave up on me. They never once questioned why I didn’t want to take all of my insulin, and why I kept doing this to myself. The truth of it all, I was screaming for help. My body was screaming for help. I just kept it all inside. I put on a fake smile and continued my days drinking soda, sleeping, peeing, drinking, peeing some more, but I felt my hip bones, my face was shrunken in, and that was all that mattered. The more I ate, the higher my sugar would go, and the faster the weight would fall off. My friends couldn’t understand how I could eat so much, and such awful foods, but still lose several pounds a week.
To be honest, I didn’t know the consequences then. Of course I would hear the occasional. “well you will see when your toes fall off or when your leg has to get amputated.” But I brushed it off. That would never happen to me. I’m invincible. I even remember saying to myself, “I don’t care if I’m 50 with no toes, at least I look good now.” Once again, my image was all that mattered to me.
Eventually, I graduated college with a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice, and did my internship working at the coroner’s office in Harrisburg. I even did an autopsy on a Type I diabetic who killed herself by taking an extremely high dose of insulin before she passed away. She was missing a leg, but even that didn’t scare me.
I moved back home, got a full time job as a TSS worker, and applied to Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine to get my Masters degree in Forensic Medicine. At this point in life, I roughly had been in and out of the hospital 2 more times for DKA. Throughout the year I promised myself I wanted to get better. I could no longer do this to myself. I needed to change. That would last for a day until I gained back all the weight I had lost, and ended up repeating the vicious cycle again. Take your insulin once a day and you will stay out of the hospital. That was my motto. But even one insulin shot a day doesn’t help, especially if your sick with bronchitis.
Bronchitis put me over the edge. I ended up in DKA again. The mixture of not taking most of my insulin, plus being sick sent my blood sugar soaring. ICU for a few days repeated by being on a regular floor for another few days. Two weeks later I got pneumonia. Back into the hospital with DKA. AGAIN. I eventually lost my job. I had no money, I took school loans out to support myself, and even those couldn’t keep me afloat. I lost my car because I couldn’t afford it, and I failed out of my Masters program from missing so much time. My life was spiraling out of control. I had no control over it. But I did have control over my weight, and I obsessed about it.
I did live on my own and to this day still do not think that was the greatest idea. It just meant the more I can give in to my sickness of eating as much food as possible without anyone seeing me, and purging through urination constantly. I didn’t have anyone around to notice it. It was just me, myself, and I, and no one else to comment on it. Sometimes I would just eat snickers bars in a row because I knew in the morning that meant more pounds down. But as much as I got high off the fact that I was losing weight, I was depressed. Yes, I was skinny, but I felt like shit.
At this point I still did not have a job, my hair started to fall out in the shower, my skin was dry, I had thrush in my mouth, yeast infections, I would sleep, eat, and pee most of the day, if I got up from my bed the whole room would turn black, my muscles ached for some water, and if I walked a flight of stairs my heart would race and I would have to sit to take a break. I didn’t care; I sat in my own self-pity for months between the diabulimia and the debt up to my eyeballs. I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t even want to live. I stopped taking any sort of insulin and within two days I was in a coma.
I knew what I was doing to myself but I couldn’t hold on anymore. I hit rock bottom. I called my mom because I was vomiting all night. She picked me up and rushed me to the hospital. We were finally in a room after about an hour of vomiting in the waiting room. They had me set up to the monitors because my heart rate was 160, and that was while lying still on the bed. I remember my mom getting wet paper towels to rub on my lips because they were dried together and shut. I remember vomiting all over the floor because I couldn’t even get up to the bathroom that was in the same room as me. I also remember when I started to hallucinate. I was calling my mother my ex’s name, and told her I was going to Tuesday night Bingo (I never play bingo.) I remember saying I was playing a video game and from that point on I was out. My mother told me that I began ripping my IV’s out of my arm, saying I was going to my friends house and that I couldn’t be there anymore. She said I peed all over myself and they had to strap me to the bed. Eventually I went into a coma. I remember seeing a bright white light. I remember the nurses talking to me, but I couldn’t respond. After a few hours, and what seemed like a few minutes to me, I came out of it. I looked to the right of me and all I saw was my mother crying and saying, “She’s up, oh my god, she’s up.” My heart sunk. What have I done? How could I do this to my mother?
I woke up to a catheter in me, nurses surrounding me, and my mother crying. My mother told me everything that happened and how they had to take her out of the room because I became so violent. The scary part was I don’t remember anything. Another set of nurses came in to put a line right next to my collar bone because they couldn’t take blood from my veins because I was so dehydrated. I was in ICU for a week, and then transferred to a step-down unit for a few days and eventually a regular room for the last 3 days. I promised myself again I would take care of myself, not for me, but for my family because I never wanted them to experience that again.
I was doing well, but I was gaining weight. The doctors explained to me the water weight would go away within a few weeks but I didn’t believe them. I was blowing up like a balloon and I couldn’t fit in anything I owned. I started to omit again. I did take my night time insulin and about 2-3 shots of insulin a day. Although I wasn’t doing everything perfectly, I was still taking insulin, and just enough so I wouldn’t get nauseous and I was maintaining my weight at a reasonable weight to me at the time.
A year after I had failed out of my master’s degree program, I applied again and started to gain a better outlook on my life. I was still omitting, but I could focus just enough to get good grades. I started to be more sociable with my friends and began to go out with them on the weekends. I finally started to enjoy life again. It wasn’t just me. But, although I was enjoying life now, I was still omitting. I was skinny, and I was getting attention. People noticed the weight loss, asking how did you do it? I just told them I went to the gym. I was. I was omitting and going to the gym which meant I would lose weight even faster.
One night, while out with my friends, I ran into Ryan. Ryan is my best guy friend from high school’s older brother (MAKE SENSE?!) I actually went to prom with Ryans brother Kevin, and Kevin always knew I thought Ryan was cute. After a few words were exchanged, some facebooking, and agreeing to hang out, Ryan and I officially were a couple, and I was never so happy in my life. He was perfect. He treated me good, unlike past boyfriends, and he was so sweet. However, he had no idea what I was doing to myself. He knew I was Diabetic, but to be truthful, he didn’t even know what that meant.
As time went on, I got another TSS job, got another car, and slowly started to pay off my debt. But, I was still omitting. My skin always itchy, I had constant yeast infections,acetone breath (tasted like metal In my mouth) and sometimes I wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed in the morning, eventually I ended up in the hospital again. Ryan never saw me like this, in ICU, hooked to IV needles, he was scared and I could tell. I realized I needed to tell Ryan. “I have an eating disorder and I need help”. It was the first time I ever told anyone. But by telling that one person it felt like a million bricks off of my back. At first, he didn’t know how to respond. But with a heart of gold he pretty much said that he didn’t understand but he wanted to know all about it. He wanted to help me, and he wanted me to get better. I also wanted to get better, I never wanted to see that look on his face again. He had millions of questions and kinds words to say, “Why can’t you just take your insulin?, your beautiful just the way you are, I don’t care if you’ll gain weight.” I just told him that its hard for him to understand because he’s not in the grips of a mental eating disorder. Something upstairs isn’t right. I have this dysmorphic view of my body and I wish I could change it but I can’t. I’m fat, I’m a slob, and I know that if I skip my insulin shots I can lose weight.
Some days were better than others. Most of the time Ryan would ask if I took my insulin, or he would remind me to take it. If I simply stated no, he didn’t yell at me. He kindly said it would make him feel better if I took it because he knew I was healthy. Eventually, I started to take more shots. I also noticed what a difference there was in me when I did. I had more energy, my mouth didn’t taste like metal, my legs didn’t itch and sting, and my mood swings went away. I even started to get my period regularly. Before, I wouldn’t get my period at all. However, I would still omit a shot here and there. I would always make an excuse up to Ryan as to why I wanted to lose more weight. After the cruise hunnie, I promise I will start taking all of my insulin. I don’t want to look huge in my bathing suit. After the cruise had come and gone, I wanted to stay thin for the summer if I had to be in my bikini the whole time, or Bev’s wedding is coming and I don’t want to be huge so I promise after that. No matter what, I always had an excuse.
In August 2010 I graduated from PCOM, and Ryan and I were engaged! Christmas came and gone and we were going on with our everyday lives. In January 2011 I got a job as a college professor teaching anatomy and physiology. The following summer I applied to the college I graduated from and still continue, to this day, to teach there as well, and at both places. I love my job and I love my life, but I hated the fact that my weight consumed every part of me. Every single thought in my head revolved around food. I couldn’t take it anymore. This had to stop.
I was preparing my body in July to go through a tonsillectomy surgery. I made myself take my night time insulin every night for a week straight so I would not end up with an infection in my mouth after the surgery. Slowly during that week, I noticed I had even more energy. No I did not take my slow acting insulin, but I was still taking my night time insulin. Oddly enough, I was still losing weight but I felt healthier. My surgery went great and I continued to take my night time insulin.
As the days passed by I slowly started to introduce my short acting insulin. I would gain weight but not as much as I used to. I told Ryan I didn’t want to gain weight for the wedding this upcoming October, and after taking my night time insulin only, my weight started to fly right off. I would get a high every time I stepped on the scale and saw more pounds gone. Although I felt a little bit better, it wasn’t enough. My wedding day was absolutely perfect. The best day of my life. But…. I was still a diabulimic, and I needed help, my own wedding dress was taken in 4 times and it was still big on me on my wedding day.
My next excuse was that I didn’t want to be huge for our honeymoon, which was two months later. We were going to Mexico, which means…. Bikinis, drinking, and sun. I took my night time insulin but never my day time. I had a blast on my honeymoon but I was always eating, peeing, and drinking. This had to stop. I was thin, but I was sick.
I know I have said this before, but this time I promised Ryan that was the last straw. I need to get better and I will get better. I would never be able to have a child with my blood sugars ranging in the 400-500’s all of the time. My body just won’t let it happen. I started to realize this isn’t just about me anymore. This is about Ryan, our children, this is about US. I need to do this for US. Ryan has been so patient with me through everything. Never raising his voice or getting mad. Never judging, just supporting me with every fiber of his body. He’s a saint and he’s my rock. If he never came into my life, I know without a doubt, I would be dead somewhere. He has saved my life. I’m a person now. I am Me.
2 weeks ago I started to take every insulin shot, test 3-5 times a day, and eat a healthy balanced meal. My last hemoblogin A1c was an 11, which is an improvement in the right direction. The doctor said I need to be between a 5-6 in order to attempt to have a child but I’m willing to do it. I have to do it! I am determined.
Since starting my insulin perfectly for the past two weeks I have noticed a few changes. 1. I can sleep at night without getting up to pee,2. I am not exhausted all of the time, 3. No more yeast infections, 4. No more thrush in my mouth, 5, no more itchy skin, 6. My hair doesn’t fall out, 7. My mouth isn’t dry, 8. I have more energy, 9. I can think straight, 10. I feel like a person. Because I am taking care of myself, eating properly, and not sucking down as much soda as I can possibly fit into my stomach, I actually didn’t gain any weight. I believe this was due to the re-introduction of my insulin at a slow pace, so my body had time to get used to it. I feel AMAZING!
Today, I wrote this with the intention to tell my story. I added all of the other information because I think its only right to mention the people who have supported me along the way. The road to recovery is not perfect, and it is something you cannot do on your own. Eventually, my family started to understand that I had an eating disorder and I that it just wasn’t me not wanting to take care of myself. I couldn’t take care of myself, I had this eating disorder muddled mind who only saw that a skinny figure was acceptable. I am starting to see that if I gain a few pounds, who cares! I have a husband who loves me with everything inside of him. I have friends who have supported me along the way, my family who encourages me everyday to do better, and an amazing job that anyone could want.
I also want to give a shout out because I would not be where I am now without my “Diabulimia Helpline” group of facebook friends. You know who you are, and I love each and everyone one of you. Your support and encouragement has pushed me in the right direction. A special thank you to Sian Howarth who has recently passed away due to Diabetes complications. Her passing also had a huge impact on my recovery. She was always an inspiration to talk to, she was doing so well herself. I never thought in a million years I would feel I lost a part of me over someone who I met over the internet. Truly Truly Truly a huge inspiration to me and towards my recovery.
So now I begin my journey…. I will be setting up a blog so feel free to follow. I hope this story can help all you ladies out there. If you are struggling, please look to someone for help. “Choose Life. “