Kathryn Devins Tracey

I don’t remember the exact day of my Type 1 diagnosis, but it was in June 1974. Because I have no official records, I chose 6/13/74. It wasn’t until both my parents had passed and my former childhood home had to be cleaned out that I found not one doctor, medical, or hospital record had been kept. It was pretty astonishing to me — like Mom and Dad didn’t want to keep reminders of my illness. Records of my birth, infant feeding instructions, and follow up appts were in their files.

I’d been attending an annual Irish Festival with my Dad, best friend, and brother, along with friends of an Irish and Irish American organization my Dad had helped create in the 1960s. That day we traveled over an hour in a school bus to get to the venue. I spent the day drinking sugary sodas, water, eating ice cream, and waiting in lines for the Ladies Room. We had no idea back then that unquenchable thirst and frequent urination were symptoms of type 1 diabetes. How I made it back home in in the school bus with no toilet still baffles me! My Mom couldn’t attend that summer and I learned many years later Dad blamed himself for me getting sick and ending up in the hospital.

He never attended that festival again but I did. I was his only daughter: “Daddy’s little girl.” I’d wanted to sleep over my best friend’s home that night but good thing I wasn’t allowed. After waking so many times that night to use the bathroom, I developed double vision. I was in the ER in the next day with a blood sugar over 800. I remember practicing injecting water into oranges with my roommate to get ready for my “new life” injecting beef and pork insulins. At 10 years old, I refused to give myself shots. My poor Mom was tasked with that.

Mom and Dad were Irish immigrants who knew nothing about T1D. No history of it anywhere within their families. One of our close neighbors was a nurse. She locked me in a bedroom while we were away with them at their summer home and wouldn’t let me out until I learned to inject myself. I hated the experience then, but it turned out to be the best lesson I learned.

Independence and no more bruises from my beloved Mom! I lived in denial of my T1 for several years while I was young. No blood testing meter till 1987. I had a mild heart attack that year due to poor control. No pumps, sensors or CGMs. Peeing in a cup and dipping KetoDiastix into my urine were the only inaccurate means of guesstimating my blood sugars. I’ve been brittle for SO many years, bust fast forward to 1993, I’d gotten married and gave birth to my one and only son. I’d been told to be thankful for one healthy baby — “no more.” I listened to my doctors.

Thankfully he didn’t develop T1. I’d been terrified of that when he was nearing age 10. I have developed a number of diabetic complications over 49 years but I thank God for each new day I’m gifted with. I also thank my dedicated parents and friends for their care.

I can’t remember when I learned of the Diaversary awards but obviously missed 10, 15, 20, 25+ year awards. Now having made it to 49+ years, I would be so appreciative to receive the 50 year achievement award! I remember hearing doctors telling my parents early on I wouldn’t live to 20 or 25 years old. Well, here I still am counting down to my 60th birthday 🥳 🎉 ‼️ There were times I didn’t think I’d still be here, but God isn’t ready for me yet 🙏. Life has been a long and winding road with T1D but I am beyond thankful for the doctors and scientists who created insulins that keep us warriors alive. “Yesterday is the past; tomorrow is the future; and today is the present we call a gift” 🧡.