Last year my life changed forever when I nearly died from Diabetic Ketoacidosis.

It all began in late February 2007 when I felt slightly under the weather with (what seemed like unimportant) symptoms of feeling lethargic, excessive thirst, and a strange taste in my mouth. As symptoms persisted I went to The Doctors' surgery, which is just across the road from our house. Not feeling I needed to go, I went mainly to keep my concerned mum happy. The nurse said there wasn't much she could do and it appeared to me that the only successful diagnosis made was over-worrying on my mums part.

The next day, my memories become vague as I lie on the sofa feeling very peculiar. My breathing had become shallow and rapid, and it was very hard to maintain. Still not happy, my mum called out the doctor for a home visit, who although initially hesitant to come, eventually did, prescribing some Paracetamol. Nevertheless I had started to feel even worse and begun to feel panicky. I recall very little of what I've been told was a bad night in which I was ice cold. All I can remember was not being able to speak, I knew I wanted to say somthing but all that came out was a nonsensical string of "ummm". The next day it became obvious something was seriously wrong when I began deliriously trying to drink my toy, Cool Cat. Bizarre! Dr Turner revisited and shone a light in my eyes, only to discover that I was unconscious but still able to feel pain. Not sure of what exactly was wrong, he did know that I needed to go to hospital and called an ambulance. After a short interlude of me trying to fight off the paramedics who were putting needles in me, we sped off to St Mary's Hospital, Newport. On arrival I was taken into the Children's Ward Emergency Room. They too were unsure as to what was wrong with me,but some of them believed it to be Meningitis. I had vast amounts of tests including a CT scan. Consulting the results Meningitis was ruled out. Diabetes became a possibility.

My mum was diagnosed as Type One Diabetic 7 years ago, she once asked our GP if there was any chance of me inheriting the disease. He quashed her fears, reassuring her that it was very rare and she had no need to worry. On hearing that I was in fact a diabetic she was devastated. There was talk of transferring me to Southampton Hospital where they could facilitate my needs more effectively but I was in a poor state and the difficulty lay in getting me and all my drips into a helicopter. They thought better of it and continued to treat me as best they could. At this point they had finally discovered what they were treating. I was in the late and extremely dangerous stages of Diabetic Ketoacidosis. Diabetic Ketoacidosis is a life-threatening complication where almost all of the insulin reserves in the body are gone. My blood glucose was dangerously high. I couldn't tell you what the doctors and nurses did to get me better, but thankfully it worked.

Three days later I woke to see a lot of ladies walking around what appeared to be an office, what a random dream. I went back to sleep. I woke again still dreaming the same boring dream. When did I go to bed? It was only the third time I woke that I wondered where I was. I sat up, apparently not noticing the wires attatched to me. I asked a nurse where I was, her reply was vague but kind:
"You're in hospital, you were very poorly"
Now I may not be the most inquisitive girl, but it surprises even me that I didn't probe her further. I simply lay there and let her brush my teeth.
Soon after my mum came in. I was utterly bemused at how pleased she was to see me. As far as I was concerned nothing had changed. She gave me a rough idea of what had happened and bemusement became bewilderment, it was all odds and ends of information that I couldn't seem to process. I was still pretty much oblivious but happy with it and recovering well.
Life in Intensive Care was good, I'd taken to it much more then I could ever have anticipated. I'd even been given a special patient's diary to record my experiences in. The nurses rotated every few hours, I loved them, they were all so nice. Nice, yet confusing, they kept telling me that when I was better they'd remove some of my lines and I could go back to Kid's Ward. Back to Kid's Ward? Had I ever been? I didn't think to question it because by this point I'd become used to Doctors and Nurses telling me things I couldn't seem to place, like how much better I looked while I lay there and smiled thinking - "have we met?" With so many random tidbits of information entering my head I didn't give anything much thought until one day my friendly nurse, unknowingly, let the cat out of the surprisingly well-sealed bag.
"Janette the Diabetic nurse is coming up to see you today, she's lovely."
I sat. I stared. I was 16, my life was ruined. I opened my brand new diary where the thoughts and feelings that had seemingly appeared from nowhere escaped my head just as quickly as they had entered, onto the first page as my eyes filled with tears.
12th March 2007 I have Diabeates. I can't even spell it. I can't believe I have it. My legs have puffed up from all the fluid they pumped into me. I look like the Michelin tyre man. After a page or two of frantic writing I looked up to find Janette sitting on the end of my bed, reassuring me a life with Diabetes can be as normal and fulfilling as any. I was dumbstruck to say the least, the only thing I managed to say was;
"So I definitely have it then?"
Of course you can guess what she said, but in the kindest of ways. She told me she'd see me again down in Children's Ward. I put it to the back of my mind for the next couple of days, but I suspect that even if in the forefront it would still have been too hard to comprehend so soon.
On the morning of my ITC Unit departure my art line had to be taken out. It was in my wrist, foolishly I didn't know what to expect, it didn't hurt but it bled loads, turns out I'm foolish and squeamish. I tried to distract myself with a new teddy I'd been given, fate decided that he would be named Arty. Later that day, Cool Cat, Arty and I were transferred to Children's Ward. A man pushed my bed down the winding corridors. It was so fun! I may have been in my pyjamas, with my wee bag on my lap, but seeing an old man also being pushed beside me made it feel like a definite high five moment! Weeeeeeee! I was wheeled into the High Dependency room. I noticed it was right next door to the playroom and it was painted as if underwater with the characters from Finding Nemo smiling at me. I could tell I was going to like Children's Ward!
My art line had been in near-continuous use in Intensive Care to check my blood glucose levels, I never thought to ask why they needed so much blood, therefore making me a perfect target for vampires, but more importantly in an oblivious happy bubble. Now that happy bubble had been burst by my new Accu-Chek finger pricker. Eve, my favourite nurse, coaxed my hand after much persuasion and showed me how to test myself. Now I was on a sliding scale of insulin given through a drip. I called the drip holder Monty. I started to get out of bed and take Monty for a spin, it was so Holby City! We did laps up and down the corridor as I tried to maneuver my balloon-legs around, but our favourite place to be was the Playroom. I felt like a 90 year old giant sitting on my tiny chair, surrounded by toddlers, but I was so engrosed making the coolest fairy wand ever that you could say the age thing balanced itself out.

*********** Dr. Nagesh looked at my tear-soaked face and pushed the inevitable back a few days. I couldn't cry forever. He had just informed me that I would be doing four insulin injections a day for the rest of my life. Type One Diabetes means injections, I was aware of this but was only expecting two a day, as my mum used to do. My days with Monty were numbered. All this for the girl who cried when she had a blood test using magic numbing cream. This was getting far too real.
Monty was either getting fed up of me or trying to encourage me, whatever the reason he had developed the very annoying habit of beeping every five minutes. Playroom days passed by quickly when one day my nurse, Emma, told me I was well enough to be moved into a normal room. It was in this normal room that I had to face it. Injections. I'd been given an insulin pen and orange to practice with. Apprehension washed over me. That night my mum comforted me, saying it wasn't as scary as it sounds. Nevertheless I felt deflated, hopeless, and scared. I dreaded the next morning and every single other day of my life yet to come.
I awoke to Eve smiling. We discussed the jabs, I'd have two in the morning and three others later. I asked her to do the first one because I was scared. I looked away and it really wasn't that bad. My turn. I pinched up some fat on my leg, made the right angle motion...then reversed the needle...once more back into the right angle motion this time past my mental barrier and into my leg. I kept it in and counted to ten. It was all done, YAY. 15th March I had five jabs today. Eve did the first, I did the other four. Three in my legs and two in my arms. It was ok. I'm kinda proud of myself. Fingers crossed I can go home soon.
So that was it, I was fast becoming Poppy - Queen of Diabetes Self Management. Everyone was proud of me and I was proud of myself. I passed the time by going through far too many phone cards and going for little walks with Janet. My legs had even started to go back to normal. On March 21st, two weeks since I'd first arrived, I was going home. I left with a bag full of Diabetes equipment and an even bigger bag of things I'd made, painted, and drawn. We got a cab home, which much to my embarrassment I literally tripped and fell into! On the way back I gazed out of the window feeling strangely reflective, but happy. I was so thankful to be alive and was looking forward to a new chapter in my life. I'd miss hospital, it had felt like a great adventure, but it was good to be going home.
Hospital is in some ways a heightened reality, everything is about your health so it takes up a huge amount of your thoughts and feeling. Even so it's when you're at home, living your normal life, that it really sinks in. Having to fit in injections, test your blood before and after certain things, plan when you can have a certain meal. My Diabetes is here for good and I may not like it but that's the way it is. I still find it hard to cope when looking ahead at a life peppered with Hypos, Injections, Blood tests, and generally having to put much more planning into my day-to-day life. But I think of it like this, if asked on March 6th if I liked hospitals I'd have been adamant in my hatred despite never having stayed. But on March 10th I was loving it. So I'll try not to let it get me down and hope that in time I can have a similar change of heart, because at the moment I hate needles!