For the first 11 years of my life, I was your average child. I loved gymnastics, tried every sport you could think of, and had sleepovers with my friends just like every other young girl.
I'll never forget I was sitting at the dinner table with my family just like we did every night and my mom, sitting across from me with a puzzled look on her face, said, “Wow, Marissa, you really look like you've lost a lot of weight.” Of course I didn't see a problem with it, but my mom knew something wasn't right. A few days later she took me to see my doctor and after doing just a simple blood test, my doctor came into the room with a worried face. I was brought to Yale-New Haven Hospital in Connecticut that night where I stayed for a week and was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. What most people don't know is that diabetes is a very serious disease if not managed and can be potentially fatal. Type 1 diabetes is when your pancreas no longer works, and I have the choice to either do insulin shots or wear an insulin pump for the rest of my life.
At first learning a whole new way of life at such a young age seemed a little scary. Having diabetes means being on a healthy diet in order to keep my blood sugar levels in control. I have to check my blood sugar sometimes 10 times a day, and I also wear an insulin pump. However, having this disease truly changed my life for the better. At first, it was so easy to look at diabetes as a negative aspect in my life, but I quickly turned it into a positive one. When I was diagnosed, it completely changed my perspective on life. As cliche as it may sound, I learned not to take the little things in life for granted--like being able to walk out of the house and not have to carry a bag full of insulin supplies, snacks, and juice boxes all the time! Little things like that have given me the label as the "mom" of my friends because my purse is always fully stocked.
Over the years, I have also come to the realization that I have a life-threatening illness. And as terrifying as that is to write, think about, or say out loud...it could be so much worse. I feel blessed that I'm strong enough to be able to control it and have such an amazing support system to get me through the rough times.
Having diabetes has also lead me to the greatest career choice I could have ever made in life. Before diabetes, I always wanted to be a teacher; I love kids and it seemed like a great fit. But that quickly changed when I saw what being in a hospital was like. There was one nurse who took care of me during my stay at the Yale-New Haven Hospital that was so wonderful. I knew that someday I wanted to be just like her; I wanted to help sick kids just like me. So despite all the negatives that come hand-in-hand with having diabetes, it has led me to the decision to someday become a pediatric diabetes nurse specialist to help kids diagnosed with diabetes. My motto in life has always been, “everything happens for a reason,” and living with diabetes has helped me realize just how true that saying is.
When I discovered The Difference Project, I immediately was so interested and touched by the stories I read. Everyone truly is different in their own way and there's no reason not to love the differences that every person has. It's wrong to treat others differently simply because they have differences. I often feel like people stare at my insulin pump when I have it clipped to my shorts or have it in my pocket. I would love for someone to ask me what it is instead of looking at it like I'm an alien. After all, it's a great conversation starter. :)
But, then again, if it weren't for our differences, everyone would be the same and that would be pretty boring to live in a world where everyone is the same. I think The Difference Project can help people who may feel uncomfortable in their own skin because they may be “different.” It will give people the opportunity to express how they feel and be reminded that they're not alone. The most important thing to do is to look at your differences in a positive light and use them to your advantage to overcome the toughest challenges in life.
Liz Craker Today, September 2, 2013, I made the courageous decision to let go of old unhealed pain and truly begin my life anew after the end of a 22-year marriage.
I had been wallowing in self-pity and self-doubt for so long...ever since I had discovered my ex-husband’s homosexual affairs after confronting him about suspicious text messages on his phone on Easter Sunday, April 2010.
I thought the divorce and the fact that my ex-husband was gay was my fault. When the truth of his actions were finally revealed, I had a sense of overwhelming helplessness and abandonment. I was literally emotionally paralyzed.
I thought, because of years of his untruthful statements about me, that I could not do anything right. I thought I was not attractive...sexual or otherwise. I thought I didn’t deserve or couldn’t have lasting love.
So I took the easy way out...the chicken way out. For months after our split I told everyone...my teenage children included...that the romantic part of my life was over….that I was going to be celibate the rest of my life...that I would never love again. It was if I had been riding a merry-go-round and refusing to go for the brass ring...the potential to be happy.
After all, I had had over 14 surgeries for a breast cancer lumpectomy and a variety of other health issues along with chemotherapy and radiation, depression, embarrassing colon issues and suicidal thoughts.
All of the medical problems came with a host of side-effects, including some hearing loss. I thought, “Who would want a woman with scars all over her body and ½ a breast who can’t hear well who has to run to the bathroom all the time? Not to mention a woman who couldn’t keep her husband satisfied?”
I resented that I was all alone, and my ex-husband had happily moved onto new relationships. Running into him and one of his dates only added to my insecurity. My youngest daughter and I went to a local restaurant for brunch after church one day, and, to my absolute surprise, we saw my ex-husband with a man. Fortunately, we were seated far away from each other with a retaining wall separating us.
I sat in shock for a few moments after we were seated, placed our order and then went to the restroom to cry. I came out and put on a brave face for my daughter, who didn't really understand what was going on. I encouraged her to go say hello to her dad, and then I basically ignored that he was there. He later acknowledged to me that he was with someone of romantic interest and commented that I was welcome to talk to him in public if I saw him with someone. When he said that I was so dumbfounded that I said nothing.
I was convinced I would forever be alone, while my ex-husband went on with his love life.
And then a wonderful man rocked my world of safe, although false, insecure assumptions about myself, my life and my future.
We began dating after my divorce was final. I was not looking for a serious relationship and neither was he...but it became very obvious after our third or fourth date, that things were taking a surprisingly serious turn...we fell in love...gloriously and completely unexpectedly.
He told me I was beautiful on our first date….beautiful in that I have a fun personality, am smart and witty and brightened his day. I was stunned. I did not think of myself in those terms at all.
We attended church together, and sermon after sermon had a message that validated me. But I still refused to believe the truths about myself. My pastor gave a particularly strong message on healing from hurts and moving on from them. I will never forget his words: “Are you going to remember the hurt or the Healer?” But I was too afraid to come out of my cocoon of safe, but wrong, assumptions about myself. I chose to dwell on the hurts and not God’s healing.
My awakening to my own value came in a watershed moment after reading a book about the homosexual coming-out crisis and how it affects the straight spouse. The special man and I had been dating for about three months at the time.
Some things in the book I did not agree with, but it had a powerful, stunning message just the same….the message that it was not all my fault that our marriage ended, and that it was not my fault that I couldn’t please my husband in or out of bed.
I was amazed to finally realize the truth that this new man in my life had been telling me for weeks...that neither or I any woman could have made my ex-husband happy. I could not compete with another man...and that fact made me no less a woman.
I felt like a newborn doe...shaky on my feet, but curious about this new-found freedom outside my womb of denial that I would ever love or be loved again. I went from wondering “Why in the world this man would love me?” to realizing “Why wouldn’t he?”
I began to realize he was right in reminding me “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” He told me that once after he had asked me how I had managed to cope with moving on past cancer.
I explained to him that I had, at one time, plagued myself with wondering how I had gotten cancer. Was it in the food I ate? The water I drank? The old farm land I grew up on? Would it come back? If? When? How?
Two years afterward my diagnosis I decided I did not beat cancer to only live with one foot in the grave of fear. So I quit asking myself those questions and bogging myself down with “what ifs.” I chose to live a life not plagued by fear.
He quietly listened and said, “Then you have to do the same with the break up of your marriage, your husband’s wrong-doings and the divorce.”
But the habit of self-blame was hard to shake off as my divorce from my gay ex-husband had just finalized in late May of this year. The divorce proceedings had dragged on over the course of two years as I had some medical emergencies that required I stay on my ex-husband’s health insurance. The amount of energy, wisdom and judgement that it took to resolve everything was overwhelming.
But after I read the book I came to realize other truths about myself.
I thought I was courageous to move out before I had full-time employment. I thought I was courageous networking, looking for work and finding a full-time job with benefits after years of being a stay-at-home mom working only in part-time seasonal jobs.
I thought I was courageous for managing the bills, car repairs, cable tv and computer problems...things I had entrusted to my ex-husband for over 20 years.
I thought I was courageous for getting the necessary psychiatric help, counseling and medication for my depression. I thought I was courageous for willingly asking our school system for financial assistance for my children’s school books and fees.
I thought I was courageous for reaching out to social service agencies and my church to pay bills. I thought I was courageous for applying for financial assistance from hospitals and health foundations and pharmaceutical companies for help in claiming financial hardship to pay medical bills and receive free medication.
Now I know those were not brave actions...they were the wise actions of a good, strong woman providing for herself and her children. The true courageous action was deciding today that I would no longer wallow in self-pity and negative self-thinking!
Unfortunately, the relationship with this new man did not work out for a variety of other reasons, yet I will always be grateful to him for helping me see my own self-worth and beauty..
So here is to the first day of the rest of my life...to grabbing the brass ring of happiness. And in so doing I have realized that I have the enviable opportunity to re-write the next chapters of my life...of course, the chapters are not going where I expected them...but that is the joy in this new journey.
It is pointless to think any more about the falsehoods I had believed about myself for so long...it is time to begin a new life...to stop focusing on the hurts and focus on God’s healing. It is simply self-defeating to spend my time and energy on a what I thought was a storybook marriage that is now over. It is time to grab the brass ring.
As modern American writer Joseph Campbell once wrote, “We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”
I am eagerly looking forward to what is ahead...at last!
Follow Liz on her blog: www.lizcraker.blogspot.com
Alexandra Reidy I have always been an athletic person who was very healthy. I swam competitively for over 10 years until I committed to play lacrosse in high school. My dream was to play college lacrosse at the Division 1 level, and I was able to get a scholarship to UC Davis. I broke my foot in two places during our last preseason scrimmage of the season and had an extremely hard time recovering. I was constantly very sick with the flu and pneumonia. At one point, I was stuck in the back of a full bus on our way to Oregon for a game for 8 hours. I was unable to hold down any food, had pain all over my body, and had absolutely no energy. I remember having to warm-up for our game that afternoon and popping at least 6 Advils from our trainer just to get through the hour. I felt like my body was shutting down.
My teammates and friends noticed how sick I always was, but I could never figure out what was going on. Eventually, I transferred from UC Davis and had made the decision to go to Gettysburg to continue to play. That summer, I worked my ass off. I was losing weight, working out twice a day, and feeling great. I still had lingering foot problems, but I pushed through it.
About two months before I started at Gettysburg, I went to the doctors to get a physical that was required for the athletic program. A urine test, blood work, and a series of questions and I was out the door. I had a call back the next day that there was a lab error in the urine test, so I went back for another one. A few days later, I was called in to see the doctor. She told me that there was an abnormal amount of sugar in my urine, which meant that I was diabetic. My average blood sugar levels over the past 3 months had been over 400. A non-diabetic’s levels range around 100. I can honestly say that my first reaction was laughter. I said, out loud, there’s no way. The denial began.
The next weeks were a combination of refusal and shock. Every day, I got about 3 different blood tests to check, recheck, and triple check that these results were not an error. I forced my doctor for any possible explanation. I asked to see other doctors. I called every single relative from my mom and dad’s sides to make sure that there was no history of diabetes. As more tests came in, I was officially diagnosed as a type 1 diabetic.
My shock turned into rage and anger. Why did this have to happen to me? How did I get a disease that was “genetic”? Where were the symptoms? I was so angry at diabetes.
One of the many doctors guessed that my Type 1 diagnosis was caused from the period of time in college when I was extremely sick and unable to heal my broken foot. The breakdown in my immune system somehow turned a switch in my body to attack my pancreas and shut down the flow of insulin. He also said that I had probably been diabetic for years and never was properly diagnosed.
The reality of the situation was that I had type 1 diabetes, and I couldn’t hide from it.
At first, I was an expert at controlling my blood sugar levels. I finger pricked 5 times a day, injected at every meal, and was always aware of my caloric intake.
Two months had passed very quickly and soon I was on a plane to a new college where I knew absolutely NO ONE. Plus, the fact that I was newly diagnosed with a life long disease that still confused and scared the hell out of me was daunting.
I came to school and became immersed into the atmosphere and social scene. I stopped caring about my diabetes. Everything was so new at that time and I was still in denial. I still couldn’t believe what had happened or why I had to be the one with it. I was embarrassed about injecting in front of people or finger pricking in class. I stopped taking my medicine. I was drinking heavily all the time. I still ate somewhat healthy, but I had no problem indulging with anything. I felt the symptoms greatly. I was constantly fatigued, dizzy, extremely thirsty, and nauseous. Eventually, I got used to the feeling.
The next year and a half, I was horrible to my body. I rarely took my insulin injections and checked my levels. I was so used to having no energy that I became addicted to coffee and caffeine tablets to stay awake. I HAD to take a nap every day, sometimes two, in order to make it through classes. I had to go to bed as early as possible or else I could not function mentally or physically. The only thing that was keeping me somewhat healthy was that I exercised daily.
I was hospitalized three times while I was at Gettysburg, one of which involved an ambulance and an extremely scary experience. All of these visits were related to diabetes. My senior year, I got pneumonia for the second time and I felt the exact same way as I did at my old school freshman year. I couldn’t stay awake for more than an hour, could barely make it to my classes, and was too tired to eat or shower. The sickness paired with my lack of care for my diabetes was one of the most painful things I have gone through. The denial and refusal to care won over my health and I didn’t realize how much I was hurting myself.
I came home from college and got the biggest reality shock of my life. My doctor ripped me a new one when he saw my blood work results. He told me I was killing myself, slowly but surely. He said my refusal to commit to this disease and take care of myself was shutting down my body and leading me to serious symptoms (blindness, leg/arm amputations, kidney disease, thyroid issues). I couldn’t hide that I was ignoring my health because the numbers don’t lie.
Looking back on it now, I feel like such an idiot. I let my laziness, embarrassment, and worry take control of my health, and my life.
The fact that I have Type 1 diabetes is never going to change. Every day, I am learning to embrace my “difference” and move forward. I learned to see diabetes as a challenge that I have to rise to each and every day. This disease has empowered me to focus more than ever on my health. I am constantly aware of everything that I put into my body and how that will affect my blood sugar. I wear a continuous glucose monitor, which is attached onto my body and automatically checks my blood sugar levels every 15 minutes. I am able to look at a plate of food or alcohol and know how many carbohydrates are in it and how much insulin I need to take. With this education and understanding, I have learned to better manage my diabetes.
Yes, there is constant monitoring involved: finger pricks, injections, ketone testing. It’s tedious, annoying, and frustrating, but I was done feeling sorry for myself. Sometimes I cannot explain why I take all of my medicine correctly and my body still does not cooperate, but I’m learning every day how to feel better.
I am not going to lie, I still get frustrated and emotional. Some days, I go back into the denial and anger that I felt the first months I was diagnosed. I see the bruising on my injection sites and I get so upset. I go out and drink excessively or eat a sugary meal and don’t think anything of it. But I am reminded of the symptoms and sickness that I felt during that time and I bounce out of that mindset.
I tell myself that I am stronger than I think, and more capable than I know. That is true in any situation, and whatever emotional roadblock that you encounter. Our differences are what make us stronger. How we chose to wake up in the morning and attack each day is under our control. We are all in control of our own happiness, and that starts with taking care of yourself and treating your body like the beautiful temple that it is.
The fact is that I had to save my strength for things that I could change. I can’t change my Type 1 Diabetes, so I embrace it. I am proud of it.