“Are you really going to eat that?” my cousin asks, eyeing the generous slice of pumpkin pie on my plate. “It probably has a ton of sugar,” he chuckles. I let out a sigh. You’d think I’d be used to the questioning by now, but it still gets to me, especially during the holidays when everyone else seems to indulge without a second thought.
I’ve been living with type 1 diabetes for over a decade. Ironically, the onset of my diabetes occurred during Thanksgiving break. It all started with a bizarre virus that left me with stomach cramps and a pounding headache for three days. From there, my health deteriorated.
In the 18 months that followed, I became increasingly ill. I lost nearly 30 pounds despite consuming far more calories than an average person my size should. I was perpetually thirsty, panicking if I couldn’t find my water bottle. Walking even short distances felt like a monumental task, and every part of my body ached. To make matters worse, I spiraled into a deep depression.
I was tough on myself during that rough period, painfully aware of my frail appearance. Others noticed too, some in downright cruel ways. I remember a man at the gym scowling, “Eat a burger.” Students whispered about me, falling silent when I walked by. A few peers even followed me to the restroom during class breaks, questioning if I was intentionally making myself sick. One acquaintance bluntly told me, “Enough with the weight loss,” while another asked, “What size are you? A 00?”
I consulted five different medical professionals before finally receiving a diagnosis and attended nearly 20 appointments. My primary care physician grew frustrated with my chronic sinus infections, suggesting I might be anorexic or a hypochondriac. A registered dietitian handed me pamphlets on high-calorie foods, urging me to eat more. An optometrist was baffled by my blurry vision, unable to fix it with a stronger prescription.
It was clear something was wrong, but no one seemed willing to help. I began to feel like I was drowning.
One Friday morning, after a long nap on the couch, I woke up to my husband rushing home from work to take me to the emergency room. Nurses drew blood while I trembled uncontrollably. One nurse bluntly stated, “You smell sick.”
After what felt like an eternity, a doctor entered with my lab results. I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, my blood sugar at an alarming 700—seven times the normal level. My A1C was 16.9, so high it wasn’t on any medical charts. I was headed to the ICU, my body in a dangerous state called diabetic ketoacidosis.
During my five-day hospital stay, I learned that type 1 diabetes is a chronic, invisible autoimmune disease where the body stops producing insulin, a hormone essential for regulating blood sugar. Without insulin, life is at risk. Diabetics like me must administer insulin through injections or pumps, monitor our blood sugar, and count carbohydrates. There is no cure.
Type 1 diabetes, previously known as juvenile diabetes, accounts for about 5% of diabetes cases. There’s also gestational diabetes, which some women experience during pregnancy, and type 2 diabetes, often associated with adulthood. Regardless of type, uncontrolled blood sugar can lead to serious health issues, including blindness, kidney damage, and more. For me, even minor factors like weather, exercise, hormones, and sleep can cause my blood sugar to fluctuate wildly.
Experiencing such a life-threatening situation changes you. That’s why I find diabetes jokes utterly unfunny. Having been close to death was not only terrifying, but also traumatic.
Social media amplifies the issue, with countless memes and GIFs mocking life with diabetes, especially around Halloween and the holiday season. These often portray diabetics as overweight sugar addicts lacking self-control.
It’s not that I lack a sense of humor. I make jokes about my situation, but that’s on my terms, not someone else’s. The holiday season poses particular challenges. While others load up on carbohydrates drenched in gravy, I’m mentally calculating the carbs in my selections while anxiously considering the insulin I’ll need. It doesn’t help when someone questions if I can actually eat what I’ve chosen, often sharing horror stories about diabetic relatives who’ve faced severe consequences because they couldn’t manage their condition. Controlling blood sugar is as tough as keeping a tired toddler calm in a crowded toy store—nearly impossible.
I often hear comments like, “Just looking at all this sugar will make me diabetic,” and the impersonation of Wilford Brimley saying “diabeetus” in a slow drawl, which is far from clever.
I can’t detach from my condition. Everything I do revolves around how I feel at that moment. There’s no break from it, but like everyone else, I want to enjoy the holiday spirit. When I’m feeling festive, the last thing I need is someone making light of my life-altering disease.
I’m grateful for how far I’ve come and celebrate my life, but if you could keep the diabetes jokes to yourself, I’d truly appreciate it. For more on understanding diabetes and its implications, check out the detailed resources available on pregnancy.
In summary, living with diabetes is an ongoing struggle filled with challenges that many don’t understand. While I can find humor in my own experiences, jokes made by others can be hurtful and insensitive. Ultimately, I wish for empathy and understanding rather than punchlines.