*I just wanna warn everyone that this post talks about a sensitive issue & my own battles with mental illness.*

Diabetes is a full time job. You think about it 24/7. Did I bolus for that meal? Did I bolus enough? How many carbs are is this meal? Will I go low over night and not wake up? The list goes on. We balance it on top of school and work and relationships. And to add more to the pile, there’s the financial stress that surrounds this disease. Diabetes is overwhelming. It’s even more overwhelming when you feel like you’re alone.

After hearing about Kate Spade, I reflected on my own dark time battling this disease and the mental health issues it brings to light. It was a year post diagnosis. My A1C was high despite being put on a pump. I had just had a relationship end and I was living in a new city. Financially diabetes was taking a toll on me, and it seemed like I couldn’t get control over my blood sugar numbers. At one point, I got in such a dark place that there were a few times when I got low, and I thought about not treating it. (For those of you who don’t know, not treating a hypoglycemic episode can lead to a loss of consciousness, seizures, and death.)

I would remember feeling low, and checking my sugar. The number would always pop about the same: 44, 56, 39. I remember sitting on my couch and thinking: I could just not eat a piece of candy. Or I could just not get up and drink juice. I remember thinking that if I didn’t treat my low, I wouldn’t have to deal with all the stress of diabetes anymore. While I never chose to not treat my lows, the thoughts were there and eventually, I talked to someone. I didn’t talk to my mom, or my best friend. I didn’t choose to lean on one of my sister’s shoulders or my group of close friends. Instead, it was a friend who I don’t see or talk to on a day to day basis anymore. His name popped on my phone one day, and he asked if I was okay. Almost like a sixth sense that he knew that I wasn’t. So I told him. For me, once I told someone, it was like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. For me, admitting to someone else that I wasn’t okay made me realize that is okay to not be okay. That doesn’t mean I was magically out of my dark place though. It took time, and some days, it still feels like there’s that dark shadow trying to creep up behind me. I can’t explain how I got out of my dark hole. It’s different for everyone and there’s no one quick fix. One day I woke up and that dark shadow wasn’t quite as big.

Life is a lot. Life is a lot for anyone sometimes, working pancreas or not. It’s okay to not be okay. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s just a small issue or if it’s making it seem impossible to get through the day, you are not alone. Someone has gone through what you’re going through and is there to listen. 💜

  • People with Type 1 Diabetes are more likely to have mental health problems such as depression and anxiety.
  • 1 in 5 adults–43.8 million people–experiences mental health illness in a given year.
  • 1 in 25 adults experiences a severe mental illness in a given year that substantially interferes with or limits one or more major life activities. **

Mental illness is more prominent than you think. It can effect anyone. It does not discriminate. Be kind to the people around you. Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there. National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255 ** These statistics were taken from the National Alliance on Mental Health

From Chronically Injured to Chronically Ill

I had no plans to swim in college. That was never something I had initially planned on when I began applying to schools. My initial plan was to move as far away from my hometown as my parents would let me go. In fact, I think it was pretty much fate that lead me to my college and collegiate swimming career. If it wasn’t for that school, I may not have earned the degrees in my subject fields, the current career path I’m on, and possibly even the mental strength I posses to deal with my chronic illness.

I had received a pamphlet in the mail about my university, and my parents encouraged me to look it up. When they realized it was twelve hours away, they were hesitant, but the affordability of university eased their minds. For whatever reason, they agreed to drive me TWELVE HOURS out to South Dakota, and we looked at a few schools on the way. The funniest part about all of this was that after touring a few other schools, I had no interest in attending the college I ended up graduating from. It wasn’t until I ran into a professor who then introduced me to the head swim coach that I had any interest in my university. Like I said, complete fate is how this all came together. Two months later, my future coach called to inform me that there was a spot on the team if I wanted it. While I had not originally planned to swim in college, much less at the Division II level, I found myself committing.

My college swim career did not go as I planned. I never thought that I’d break records or earn a national cut, but I sure as hell did not think I’d miss almost a year and a half collectively. My first injury came my sophomore year of college. I began experiencing pain my right groin, but ignored it. I was running and swimming four hours a day, and was honestly still getting used to the demands of college athletics. It wasn’t until I found myself in extreme pain during a kick set that I made my way to the trainers. And it wasn’t until I was crying while walking across my small campus to get to class that I asked for things to be escalated. An x-ray and three MRI’s later, it was determined that I had torn the labrum in my right hip, and I needed surgery. I ended up missing the entirety of my sophomore season, but gained that year back with a medical red-shirt.

It was frustrating to have to sit on the sidelines and watch my teammates compete. It was frustrating to sit through four months of physical therapy post-surgery until I was cleared to swim. All I wanted to do was be back in the pool with my teammates, and I was SO relieved when that day finally came. I had been out of the water almost six months, and I was not in the same shape as when I left the pool. I worked my butt off to get back to where I was after before I had surgery. Then during the middle of a practice where I was finally feeling like I was back at pre-injury speed, my coach pulled me out of the pool again. Except this time, it was very obvious something was wrong. My right arm was swollen, and my hand was a blueish-purple color. Within the next two days it would be determined that I had Thoracic Outlet Syndrome, and had then developed Paget-Schroetter Syndrome. I had a blood clot in my shoulder, and underwent surgery within the next week. I missed ANOTHER immediate six weeks of swimming, required more physical therapy, and was not cleared to compete until about two months later. It was another frustrating recovery period, but I was yet again optimistic that I could come back just as strong.

My third full year of swimming was one of my best. I had be voted captain of my team, I was back to times that I had been seeing before either surgery, and I made finals in every event I swam at my conference meet. Then my last year, I slipped on the ice before morning practice and fractured my radius. I was out for about a month, but it made made me question taking my fifth year. I was frustrated, I wanted to quit, and I was devastated with the luck I seemed to have. Somehow though, I came back. My arm healed, and I finished out my year with the same optimism and positivity that I had shown during my other two injuries. It was tough, but I loved swimming and I wanted to finish out my career.

After I graduated college, I thought I was done with being injured. I was ready to live a normal life, workout when I wanted, and start my career. That following August, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. I was furious, terrified, and any of the strength I had shown during my previous health battles was gone. The moment that I realized that there was no cure or quick fix, it destroyed me. I had been so lucky before with my previous problems. They could all be fixed, but no doctor in the world at this time can make my pancreas produce insulin again. It was a hard pill to swallow, and it was even harder to accept that there was no way to prevent this.

After going through what felt like the five stages of grief, I accepted my diagnosis. It certainly wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t a fast process, but I found the same strength I had had during my doomed collegiate swim career. I think that strength I experienced so many times before helped me carry the weight of my Type 1 Diabetes diagnosis. If I had not gone to my university and swam, and experienced that kind of set back, I think my acceptance of my diagnosis would have been very different. The way I carry myself as a Type 1 Diabetic could be very different. I am certainly not happy that I live with this awful disease, but I thankful for the experiences that I have had so far, no matter how difficult they were at the time, that proved to me that I can get through some of the hardest days with Diabetes.