How I Met My Lifelong Partner

I'm a type 1 diabetic and, much like relationships, diabetes found me when I least expected it. And then, very much unlike relationships, I couldn't get rid of the bugger when I didn't want it anymore. I was diagnosed in January 2016, just before I turned 22. There I was, having a wonderful time in my final year of university, when diabetes crept up on me. You little sausage, diabetes. For anyone who didn't go to uni, by the way, the three years there are a lot like the first three Spider-Man films: the first one starts out strong, the second one is passable, and then the third one makes absolutely no sense. I am talking about that hilariously awkward dance scene that Peter Parker does in Spider-Man 3...Literally, what was the relevance of that other than to make the audience hate Tobey Maguire?

Anyway, I started to feel particularly unwell right before Christmas 2015, but I thought, "This is just the feeling of absolute dread/fear/panic knowing my entire future rests on this final year. Uni life. Banter." So, of course, I avoided the doctor and pretended everything was fine. Proper British, and all that. I got home for Christmas and had all the symptoms: frequent urination, sudden weight loss, increased thirst... and I don't mean alcohol alone, like usual. No. I was genuinely craving liquids that were actually going to quench my thirst, not just the ones that make me embarrass myself irrevocably (*cough* throwing up next to a cash machine in the Students' Union *cough*). It got to the point where I was going to the loo every hour through the night.

And I admit, I did think this was very odd. But again, being born and raised in the U.K. means one of the things that makes you quintessentially British is to avoid any kind of medical professional until a limb is practically hanging off. Therefore, I continued to pretend everything was fine (ignorance really is bliss) and assume it was all going to go away. Classic. I got back to uni in January and that's when the stress really kicked in. I think I had the best part of 10,000 words to write in, like, three weeks alongside my dissertation. And when you're a top procrastinator like me? Well, that makes an undiagnosed lifelong illness...still an undiagnosed lifelong illness, to be fair. But when you are feeling very unwell while 79% procrastinating and 21% writing assignments, it ain't all that fun. And we all know that the real reason anyone attends university is to have fun.

Somehow, I "mind-over-mattered" my feeling-like-crap thing and managed to complete the assignments. My real motivation for doing so was knowing that once they were complete I had an approximate FOUR WEEK BREAK from assignments and exams! I mean, yes, my dissertation was still lingering like a bad smell, but that wasn't due until April, so I had at least a couple of weeks to chill (as much as a third-year student could during their penultimate term at university). I only had one Friday morning lecture, so I went home after that to visit my family for a few days, completely sure I would return at the end of the weekend. But that didn't happen. If I thought I felt bad before, I was in for it this time.

My lovely mum, being omniscient as all mums are, knew there was definitely something wrong and insisted I wasn't returning to uni but that instead I was to stay home for a couple more days and make an appointment to see my doctor. I explained all the symptoms during that visit where they performed a blood test and I had to provide a urine sample. I went back the following day where the diagnosis was made; and it wasn't Love, Actually—it was type 1 diabetes. My doctor said I needed to be admitted to the hospital immediately, which I was that day.

Over the next five days I spent in hospital, I learnt more about my illness and had to come to terms with the fact my life had completely changed. I'd always been in good health and never, ever spent a night in a hospital, let alone on a ward where everyone was at least 40 years older than me (no exaggeration—I was on the Coronary Care Unit), so it was a shock to the system in every way. Learning that type 1 is incurable and realising I had to rely on three to four insulin injections daily for the rest of my life was particularly difficult; especially when I have an irrational fear of injections. I may or may not have had my mum come with me to a recent flu vaccination. I'm 23.

I don't remember much else about being in hospital, partly because it was such a hazy experience and partly because I think I've intentionally blocked it out. People say you rest in hospital, but I had honestly never felt so disturbed and scared in all my life. I was elated the day I was discharged and coming back to my own home was genuinely the best feeling. It made me appreciate the little things: my own bed, edible food, TV, and the ability to piss in a toilet rather than in that cardboard box thingy that's in a commode.

I really do think we take toilets for granted.