I’m sitting here now, tears running down my cheeks, hand shaking too much to give myself the vital injection of insulin I need to keep me alive, trying to calm myself down enough to actually do this. I know this is what I need, and always have done. I know that if I don’t take it, my cells will starve from lack of sugar, I will begin to break down fat and muscle in my body in order to get the energy I can’t take from my bloodstream. I know that the reason I have this chronic illness is because, for some unknown reason, my immune system decided to go into overdrive and wipe out the insulin producing beta cells of my pancreas. I know that this is never going to leave me be – and that is what hurts the most.

Everyday I remember what life was like without diabetes. I lived 14 years and 238 days without ever seeing a meter, or a cartridge of insulin. I knew what diabetes was, I knew there were two main types, I knew it wasn’t just an ‘old persons’ disease’. But when someone said diabetes I certainly didn’t picture this. Not how I am right now. Until you have to do this, every day, it’s not possible to understand. Until you have to watch a meter count down and show you a 20.8mmol/l or a 2.9mmol/l for you or somebody you love, it’s impossible to imagine the profound effect that seeing these numbers has on a person.

It’s only really when you sit down and prick your finger for the tenth time that day and still can’t get an in range number that you realise. This is forever. However many times you procrastinate over injecting the liquid that keeps you alive – but could send you into shock – it’s not going to go away.

———-

It’s later now. I’m not in tears anymore. I overestimated earlier with my insulin. I gave myself 12.5 units of novorapid to cover for 123 grams of carbohydrate and a blood glucose level of 8.3. And now I am struggling with hypoglycaemia, 2 hours and 47 minutes after giving my insulin injection. Other than this, my meter has shown me several numbers that are higher than I like today. I had a fasting level of 8.3, before lunch I was 14.0 and before dinner it was 13.1. In mg/dl, that is levels of 150, 252 and 236. Those aren’t my favourite numbers in the world, but I’ll live with them, because I have to.

However scared I am of hypoglycaemia and however much having a seizure or passing out sends shivers through every bone of my body, I still do this. Because the things that could happen if I don’t are too terrifying to contemplate.

So many of us have to live with these swings. Forever. And we will. We will still go out with friends, we will still run. We will still laugh and we will still have a good time. We still make mistakes and I’ll keep doing stupid things. We still live. I will really live.