Jewels Doskicz

Just after midnight on January 1st, 1984, I crawled to my parents’ bedroom, collapsing in abdominal pain. My dad carried my 85-pound, depleted body to the car and sped to the ER, where my mom worked as a nurse.

That was 40 years ago.

I don’t recall much from the ER — other than my mom smelled like coffee and cigarettes (she didn’t smoke) — so I had the feeling something wasn’t great. After a week-long stay in the ICU for DKA, I was cognizant enough to receive the news: I had type 1 diabetes.

Initially, there weren’t many management tools. Checking glucose levels was rudimentary at best. I would apply a blood sample to a test strip, wipe it with a cotton ball, and hold it up to the bottle to see what “range” my blood glucose was in. The plan of attack was a few injections a day of regular and NPH insulin. So much has changed.

T1D in the 80s was a somewhat isolating experience. I never met or spoke with another young adult who lived with T1D until I began volunteering at diabetes camps in my twenties. I graduated from college as a registered nurse and worked clinically for 22 years — I’m currently a medical writer and editor.

During that time, I married my husband, John, and became a mom of two beautiful girls, one of whom was also diagnosed with T1D at five years old. Her diagnosis was much more challenging to shoulder than mine.

My involvement in everything T1D-related ramped up, and I continue to advocate passionately for others at T1D Exchange. I’ve always pushed the envelope of physical activities — running marathons, hiking across the Grand Canyon, rock climbing, and biking 100-milers. I’ve always had the mentality of being prepared and bringing T1D along for the ride.