Gwendolyn Sobkowiak | staff writer

I have diabetes.

I’ve had it since I was 11 years old. I’m pretty easy to spot on campus. I’ve got two big hunks of plastic taped to the backs of my arms that regularly make themselves known by emitting fire alarm noises. I keep handfuls of loose candy and needles in my backpack. Sometimes I have to pull out an apple juice box in class so I don’t pass out.

I feel like I’m pretty approachable about the subject. I’ve heard all of the jokes and I’m really not embarrassed by questions. Any time I see another one of my kind roaming around in public I hunt them down to take a selfie.

Some days I like to go incognito but I’m so glad that it’s become more familiar to the general public with celebrities like Nick Jonas and Lila Moss proudly sporting their insulin pumps. I’m not something “in spite of” the disease. It’s just another layer to my daily routine.

I’ve been rocking my glucose monitors since 2015 and it’s always made me a beacon for the curious, and sometimes rude, observer. I’ll have people come up to me in restaurants and libraries. Bars, churches and even the dentist’s office aren’t off limits. People want to know about the cyborg parts of me any time of the day or night.

Some of them are concerned. No, you’re not going to get diabetes from that chocolate fountain at the buffet. Not my kind anyway. I have Type 1 diabetes, which is different from Type 2. Type 2 diabetes is more common. It’s the kind your grandpa might have and maybe even your cat. According to the Mayo clinic, Type 2 is insulin resistance associated with obesity. Type 1 diabetes on the other hand, is a life-long, currently incurable, genetic condition.

It’s an autoimmune disease. Basically, you get sick, for all we know with something as unassuming as the common cold, and suddenly your immune system turns on itself. Your body decides that it doesn’t recognize the major players (the beta cells) in your pancreas (the organ that helps you regulate your blood sugar all day). Suddenly, a perfectly healthy person is experiencing major high blood sugar, which causes rapid fat and muscle loss, severe dehydration and massive, pounding headaches.

I remember being in a hospital bed laid up eating sugar-free Jell-O. Everyone seemed a lot more concerned than I was at the time. I just didn’t like the bit about stabbing myself with needles and never eating sugar again. I was only half right about that.

A lot of people ask if I have ‘the bad kind’ of diabetes. This question has always just struck me as odd. Yes, my kind of diabetes is bad, but I don’t really understand what people are looking to hear. Is there a good kind? Whatever the case, I guess the way I would best describe my Type 1 is … elaborate.

As a Type 1 diabetic, I self-regulate my blood sugar every minute of every day. That’s where the needles come in. We’ve got all of this fancy technology to help us now, but it’s genuinely time-consuming and frustrating. Plus, it kind of hurts.

The shots part is what freaks most people out. But there really is no other option. Having a high blood sugar for long enough shuts down your organs, kills your nerves, makes you go blind and can send you into a coma. The levels I usually get to only make me grouchy and liable to fall asleep standing up, but hours of high blood sugar still send me to the bathroom vomiting up my breakfast.

There’s something in me that hates a countdown. I can’t stand the way most doctors give shots. They gave me an option at the hospital to either let my parents dose for me or self-administer it. You can probably guess what I picked. I’m a big, “get it over with” kind of gal.

The insulin pump I have now is about the size of a container of dental floss or a nicely sized skipping stone. It’s called an Omnipod,and I honestly love it. Since it’s an insulin pump it has its own tiny needle that shoots into my arm and leaves a plastic tube to administer the insulin continuously. The large flaw of the Omnipod is in its countdown.

Rather than the traditional “three, two, one” countdown the company opted for a stranger, more stress inducing option. Once you verify the needle administration, the Omnipod begins a period of vaguely audible mechanical clicking.

Randomly, at any point in a 10 second period, the needle will be shoved into your skin. Yowch!

Having a low blood sugar feels exactly like being a cartoon character who’s had one too many. I feel dizzy, shaky, confused, either incredibly hungry or nauseous and just generally like I want to lay down and throw up all at once. It’s just not ideal for concentration in a three-hour lecture on developmental language disorders.

Diabetes can be really frustrating to experience and confusing for people who have never met someone with it before.

Imagine being sick to your stomach and being told that you have to eat 10 grape-flavored pixie sticks or you’ll die. Or worse waking up at 4 a.m. to the shriek of a demanding chunk of plastic.

For all my complaining, I’m lucky I have all of the medical technology that I use. This beeping piece of plastic and juice box are keeping me from passing out in Fisher Hall, I promise.

People have asked if they can still make diabetes jokes now having known me. I think that question too is a little bit silly. I don’t really care what people say, I just don’t usually find it to be that funny. Your Wilford Brimley impression isn’t as good as you think it is, and anything involving the fact that I can’t eat sugar is just stupid. I’ve seen my diabetic friends house two honey buns and a glass of milk on more than one occasion (that’s the equivalent of 10 packs of sugar). I’m managing my blood sugar, not restricting myself from eating food.

Maybe I’ll get hit with a one liner that changes my mind, but in the meantime, if I’m not laughing, it’s not because I’m offended. You’ll just never top the time a kid thought he could kill me by shutting off my Omnipod, and tried.

Gwendolyn Sobkowiak can be reached at sobkowiakg@duq.edu