Newspaper Entertainment/Feature Column

Bailey Clark, Tribal Tribune
Wando HS (Mt. Pleasant, S.C.)

Sugar starved: Coping with chronic disease part of everyday life for student

My arm tells the story of my life.

Like brail engraved beneath the surface, these marks are exposed as an unwanted tribute to this chronic disease that holds me prisoner. Trapped in this predicament for the rest of my life, I have learned to deal and cope with this foe that has burdened my present, troubled my future and will never set me free.

It was four years ago when we noticed that something was wrong. I was 13, and unlike my peers, I was sentenced to bed most of that summer. I thought it was normal.

It wasn’t just a tired sleepiness, but a nagging fatigue that consumed my body. I thought of excuses, anything to take the concern away from my parents.

Maybe it was because of double practices for swim team. 5 a.m. to 8 a.m. was awfully early for the summer, not to mention three straight hours of grueling practice, plus the additional two hour practice in the afternoon.

But then there was the question of my teammates. Unlike them, I never seemed to recover. While they were out enjoying the two months off from junior high, I was too tired just to enjoy life as a kid.

I went to doctors, but they all said the same thing: mononucleosis. In late July state meet came. Finally all my sacrifices and hard work were going to pay off. I was expecting to do well, but as usual found myself falling short of my goals and sinking into a cumbersome fatigue that left me disappointed yet again.

On the way home from that physically and emotionally exhausting weekend, my parents spoke the words that have shaken my world ever since.

“The doctors found something; we need to have more tests done.” That’s all I remember. The thoughts came pouring into my head like a relentless question with too many answers.

Was it cancer? Not, it couldn’t be; nobody in my family has ever had cancer. I knew I was born with a bad kidney; was it failing? My asthma: had it gotten worse? My mom has a hypothyroid, which would explain the fatigue, was that it? Or was it some rare, incurable disease that I had never known existed?

I was confused, concerned, but most of all scared. The doctors would properly diagnose me and I would get better, right? I would get better, but what I didn’t know was it would cost me so much more. I would have to pay penance to it for the rest of my life.

This past year I’ve crashed an uncountable number of times and completely blacked out twice. It’s a scary feeling, knowing what’s coming and not being able to stop it. It starts with fatigue; my walk, or in the case of practice, my stroke, subtly slows. I start to shake uncontrollably. The shaking turns into dizziness, and eventually I am not capable of withstanding the disease’s quick and commanding demeanor. I can’t walk, so I fall to the ground, unable to function, losing all control.

The most recent episodes have attacked me twice within the past five months and are perhaps the most naggingly painful. It starts as a tingling, lightly aggravating my lower calf. As it progresses, it climbs up my leg like a poisoness vine, growing with a constant, painful, burning sensation that creeps up and down my legs relentlessly. Lasting for several days at a time, I am found revisiting those summer days as an unenlightened 13 year old, summoned to my bed until the pain ceases. But this time I don’t sleep. The pain pries my eyes open, keeping me prisoner, unable to escape once again.

The effect which plagues me most has nothing to do with the disease in my body, but other people’s perceptions. I’m not normal; my body won’t do the same things that your body will. I may not look sick; I have my strength, a healthy heart, and a good, optimistic personality, but inside I have pain.

I am one of the most dedicated, hard working people I know. I try my hardest in everything I do. Physically, my body can’t take it, and people often see that as taking the easy way out.

One of the biggest pains in my life is knowing I can’t: knowing I can’t go to all the practices or else I’ll get sick; knowing at any time I’ll crash and have to stop because if I go any further my body will break, pushing itself towards its limit and teetering on the edge of failing.

Adults, like my coach, make concessions for me to help keep me well. They understand my problem and they know I’m not like the normal 17 year old. These consolations are what my teammates see as unnecessary. They don’t believe I’m sick because I don’t look sick. They don’t fully understand my problem and feel that my disease isn’t a big deal. They hassle me for missing a few practices, getting out early when I have to, and stopping short when I feel the crash coming on.

If they only knew, for one day, what its like and how much I pray that I was like them. How much I wish I was normal so I could accomplish my aspirations easier and free of scrutinization.I have diabetes, more specifically, hypoglycemia.

I adjust my diet to ensure a healthy glucose level, and I check this level often by drawing my own blood four times a day. I then take this blood on a strip and insert it into a glucometer, a device used for determining blood sugar levels.

A normal person’s glucose level is 90 to 110, while mine is often 50 to 80. It occasionally drops into the high 40s, which is when I crash.

Crashing is when my glucose levels reach a dangerous level. Hunger, nervousness and shakiness, dizziness or light-headedness, sleepiness, confusion, difficulty speaking and feeling anxious or weak are all common symptoms of crashing.

It is a hassle to keep myself healthy. It consumes much of my time, and takes away the normalcy I yearn to have. But I have accepted my life and the problems I now face. I will never forget that summer that changed my life.

I look down at my arm, studying the holes where I keep this disease in check and understand that I will have to face many struggles for the rest of my life, but am thankful I am at least here trying, getting a chance to live the best life I can. I know I can do great things; it’s just a matter of overcoming this barrier and defeating its dominance. It’s a matter of believing not only in what I can do, but in myself.