"When the doctor – Professor James it was – told my Mum I had
diabetes, I couldn’t understand why she got so upset. It wasn’t
going to kill me or anything – not like a girl in our school who
had cancer….then I didn’t understand how much I’d have to take care
of what I ate…or at least I’d have to work out how much Insulin I
had to take…I couldn’t just relax.
Then there were the injections and the ‘pen’ for testing my
blood sugar. They don’t exactly hurt, but it’s a bit like being a
prisoner ….having to do it all the time. Then sometimes I get fed
up and think “why should I have to do it….and why did it happen to
me anyway….The doctors say it wasn’t anything I did or even my Mum
or Dad did, but I can’t often believe it must have been someone’s
fault.
….and if I do play about with it a bit…I know it really winds my
Mum up…I know I sometimes do it on purpose when she been winding me
up. Dad just gets angry when I do it, and sometimes it leads to
arguments….I mean arguments between them. But then they sort of get
together and gang up on me. Sometimes I even thought I could get
them to stop arguing by playing around with my ‘B.M’s (Blood sugar
measurements), and a few times it worked. Funny really…I felt I was
the like winner…I mean that I was in charge when that happened.
The hospital told me I might have problems if I didn’t try to
get better control of my B.Ms, and one creepy young doctor wanted
to take me up to the adult ward to see the people who’d lost toes
or couldn’t see properly. No way I said.
Still I did later talk to the diabetes nurse. She was great, but
after I talked to her I sort of lost the fun out of mucking about
with the B.Ms."