"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."