Sian, 23
It all started while I was at school. I was 15, had my first boyfriend, and essentially I was happy. That will probably leave you wondering how on earth this illness got its grips on me. I fell ill with some bug and the high sugar levels over a couple of weeks lead to the weight loss. I wasn’t in any way shape or form over weight before hand but when I lost the weight everyone commented on it. And so it began... from then on, I mistreated my body for years. What seemed at the age of 15 to be so simple, easy and harmless almost killed me in the end.
December 2005
It’s Christmas in two days. I have a ton of uni work to do and I haven’t finished my Christmas shopping, but I can’t get out of bed. My chest hurts every time I breathe, my head hurts like hell, my eyes are blurred, my kidneys r in agony, the stomach cramps are unbelievable and, despite drinking pint after pint of water, my mouth feels like it has a rock inside of it instead of a tongue as it is so dry. My mum keeps asking if I have tested my blood sugar and I lie and tell her it was ‘a little bit high.’ In reality, I know if I test it will be un-recordable (above 30 – the highest the machine can record). I sleep until Christmas day when I briefly get up to watch my 5 year old nephew open his presents. I feel so guilty that I can’t share the day with him, he looks so concerned and constantly comes to check on me throughout the day. Why should a five year old be put in a position where he should feel the need to spend half of his Christmas day sitting on my bed talking to a half dead, selfish, idiot. The next day, close to death, I am rushed to A&E, where it takes six doctors to stop me from dying, and spend days unconscious in intensive care. My mum is told if I had got there an hour later I would have been dead. When I come round and see my mum asleep in a chair next to me I feel a huge sense of guilt, a feeling I am now used to and growing very tired of. I can barely move but am very aware of the many drips and wires keeping me alive in my neck, arms and groin. I survived this time. Was it all worth it? No.
Despite this not being the first or last time that this happened I was never treated for any kind of eating disorder. Doctors were aware that I had fallen into DKA numerous times but never questioned why, just putting it down to something that I would ‘grow out of’. I became a compulsive liar, always having an excuse for the persistently ridiculously high HbA1c results. No, doctors never helped me with my eating disorder and at the time I didn’t realise that it was even an eating disorder as I still loved to eat. I felt like I was the only person doing this and I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t take my insulin. All I knew was that the mere thought of injecting insulin terrified me. In my distorted view, I might as well of been injecting fat. I became somebody I hated and deceived everybody I loved.
Despite everything I was going through, against all the odds, I managed to get a teaching degree. However, due to complications of my high blood sugars, I had to give up my first teaching job almost as soon as I started. I developed autonomic neuropathy and with this I was vomiting up to ten times a day and felt completely drained of any energy. My stomach was so swollen people often assumed I was pregnant and on my skinny body this looked ridiculous. The pain of having to give up a job I loved, along with the unwavering encouragement and support from my boyfriend led me on a determined road to recovery. It was hard, at times extremely frustrating, and I needed constant will power, but I got there. I am one of the lucky ones who came out the other end, although I bear the scars of what I went through in the form of painful, life changing complications including neuropathy and kidney damage. Others aren’t so lucky and I now more frequently hear horror stories of people too young to die, losing their battle to this horrible illness.
I now want to make sure that if others are suffering as I did, there are people who can help, that professionals can recognise the signs of this often life threatening illness, and that there is an easier way out. This is something I feel passionate about and will fight for until the system is better, works and understands the patients and their needs.
December 2005
It’s Christmas in two days. I have a ton of uni work to do and I haven’t finished my Christmas shopping, but I can’t get out of bed. My chest hurts every time I breathe, my head hurts like hell, my eyes are blurred, my kidneys r in agony, the stomach cramps are unbelievable and, despite drinking pint after pint of water, my mouth feels like it has a rock inside of it instead of a tongue as it is so dry. My mum keeps asking if I have tested my blood sugar and I lie and tell her it was ‘a little bit high.’ In reality, I know if I test it will be un-recordable (above 30 – the highest the machine can record). I sleep until Christmas day when I briefly get up to watch my 5 year old nephew open his presents. I feel so guilty that I can’t share the day with him, he looks so concerned and constantly comes to check on me throughout the day. Why should a five year old be put in a position where he should feel the need to spend half of his Christmas day sitting on my bed talking to a half dead, selfish, idiot. The next day, close to death, I am rushed to A&E, where it takes six doctors to stop me from dying, and spend days unconscious in intensive care. My mum is told if I had got there an hour later I would have been dead. When I come round and see my mum asleep in a chair next to me I feel a huge sense of guilt, a feeling I am now used to and growing very tired of. I can barely move but am very aware of the many drips and wires keeping me alive in my neck, arms and groin. I survived this time. Was it all worth it? No.
Despite this not being the first or last time that this happened I was never treated for any kind of eating disorder. Doctors were aware that I had fallen into DKA numerous times but never questioned why, just putting it down to something that I would ‘grow out of’. I became a compulsive liar, always having an excuse for the persistently ridiculously high HbA1c results. No, doctors never helped me with my eating disorder and at the time I didn’t realise that it was even an eating disorder as I still loved to eat. I felt like I was the only person doing this and I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t take my insulin. All I knew was that the mere thought of injecting insulin terrified me. In my distorted view, I might as well of been injecting fat. I became somebody I hated and deceived everybody I loved.
Despite everything I was going through, against all the odds, I managed to get a teaching degree. However, due to complications of my high blood sugars, I had to give up my first teaching job almost as soon as I started. I developed autonomic neuropathy and with this I was vomiting up to ten times a day and felt completely drained of any energy. My stomach was so swollen people often assumed I was pregnant and on my skinny body this looked ridiculous. The pain of having to give up a job I loved, along with the unwavering encouragement and support from my boyfriend led me on a determined road to recovery. It was hard, at times extremely frustrating, and I needed constant will power, but I got there. I am one of the lucky ones who came out the other end, although I bear the scars of what I went through in the form of painful, life changing complications including neuropathy and kidney damage. Others aren’t so lucky and I now more frequently hear horror stories of people too young to die, losing their battle to this horrible illness.
I now want to make sure that if others are suffering as I did, there are people who can help, that professionals can recognise the signs of this often life threatening illness, and that there is an easier way out. This is something I feel passionate about and will fight for until the system is better, works and understands the patients and their needs.