Monday, October 15, 2012

STILL ME


Age 15 for the October Memoir and Backstory Challenge is written by Kathy Cannon Wiechman
***

When I think of being fifteen years old, I think of my last year of being truly carefree.

I went to lots of parties, and hosted plenty of them, too. They were informal things, where we ate chips and drank Pepsi, played records (yes, vinyl), and had fun. I dressed up and went to dances, dressed down and went to basketball games, dressed in red and went to Cincinnati Reds games. I hung out with my friends and walked to the local chili parlor, which served the best french fries EVER.

That’s when I was fifteen.

At sixteen, my world changed. I fell asleep in class on a daily basis, and had trouble staying awake to finish my homework. I had an insatiable thirst and was constantly hungry—but I didn’t gain weight.

The doctor’s diagnosis was Juvenile Onset Diabetes (now called Type 1 Diabetes). He said if I didn’t want to die, I would need to take insulin shots every day, closely monitor the exercise I got, and every bite I ate. I’d have to be careful of my eyes, my kidneys, and my feet. I was in the hospital for 12 days and heard horror stories of diabetics who went blind or had their feet and legs amputated.

When I came home, my carefree lifestyle had definitely changed. I always had to be aware of my sugar and insulin levels, take notice of any shaky feeling in my hands that might indicate a hypoglycemic reaction (blood sugar too low). I kept Lifesavers in my purse for emergencies.

Before I went to a dance or walked to meet my friends, I had to figure out how much “sugar” I’d walk/dance off, and if my blood sugar was high enough to handle it. I had to calculate my meals by “exchanges” and stick to what my last shot allowed.

It was tedious at first, but I got used to it. What was tougher was the way people treated me. In the beginning, my friends avoided going to the chili parlor when I was with them. They didn’t want to eat in front of me those things I was no longer allowed to have. In time, I convinced them that I didn’t mind watching them eat, that I just wanted them to treat me like that carefree 15-year-old.

Back in those days, we could buy Diet Pepsi at the grocery, but it wasn’t available at the chili parlor, most restaurants, the amusement park, or the ball park. I had to smuggle it in the same way the church ladies smuggled in their flasks of whiskey. My friends became co-conspirators.

Things had changed at home, too. Dad acted as though I were made of glass, asking me every five minutes if I felt OK. My siblings got blood tests since the role of genetics in diabetes caused concern. They were fine, but they treated me differently. I often ate different meals from what the others did. Mom was wise enough not to change their lives because mine had.

But I saw the way they looked at me, sometimes with pity, sometimes with resentment. I wanted things to be as they’d always been. I missed the teasing, the jabs, the “fights.” I didn’t like feeling different. I was still ME. Couldn’t they see that?

It took time.

Now there was a “Kathy drawer” in the bathroom for my testing supplies, a “Kathy cabinet” in the kitchen for my sugar-free snacks, and a second container of Kool-Aid in the fridge, one sweetened without sugar.

The containers were similar, so Mom warned my sibs to make sure mine stayed on the left, so I wouldn’t get confused and drink all that sugar by mistake. But when nine people reach into the same refrigerator multiple times a day, things get rearranged.

The day came when I didn’t know which was mine, and Mom warned them all again. The next day, a skull and crossbones had been magic-markered on my Tupperware container. It looked like my brother Bob’s work. And for some reason, that was the day I felt like ME again.
Smart-alek Bob's on Kathy's right.

16 comments:

  1. I know this must feel like the mutual admiration society but once again Kathy, I just loved the story, loved the pictures and even though I never met Bob, I love the guy!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Jon. I love Bob, too, even though he's still a smart-alek. He also enjoys his alcohol, & I think the 2 of you would get along well.

      Delete
  2. Great story, Kathy. It is a perspective I hadn't thought of.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Ann. It's a part of my life I'm not always comfortable sharing because I still just want to be treated like anyone else.

      Delete
  3. I love this, Kathy! Solid writing that really "brought me there" and the pictures are amazing. You conveyed a lot in a few words - great story.

    ReplyDelete
  4. What a poignant memory, Kathy. Sounds like a novel or memoir in the making. Hugs.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Clara. It was so good to see you last week. Rich has encouraged me to write a novel about this phase of my life for quite some time, but I resisted for fear of having a "Poor me" story. I now have an outline for a novel in which this would be just a thread.

      Delete
  5. What a pain in the butt it is to have diabetes! I am better for having read this. In the future, I will be more sympathetic to those struggling with such a life changing disease.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for your comment, Juliet. It is a pain in the butt & you can be sympathetic if you want, but don't treat us as if we have a "problem." We're just people dealing with our own baggage. It's about understanding, not pity.

      Delete
  6. Love this post and the pictures, too!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Nora. Looking at those pictures almost makes me feel young again. Almost.

      Delete
  7. What an interesting story. I really enjoyed reading it. Loved the last line especially.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you. I appreciate your reading it & leaving a comment.

      Delete
  8. Terrific piece. I love all the details that really enliven the image of a normal teenage girl.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Joy. That's all I wanted to be, a normal teenage girl.

      Delete