31 Years With Type 1 Diabetes

Hi. My name is Jack Gold and I have had Type 1 Diabetes for over 30 years. I firmly believe that Diabetes is one of the most misunderstood diseases in the world. People who don't know anything about it, bless their hearts, try so hard to be helpful in a crisis. Can't tell you how many times, when my sugar was extremely low, someone would suggest, "Do you need to take a shot?" In my muddled brain, my first answer, though unspoken, was "Sure, I'm ready to die now. Or at least to have a stout coronary."

Conversely, when my sugar was extremely high, the concerned souls would recommend I eat something sweet. I don't blame them although now and then I still laugh about those episodes. Even after patiently explaining the difference, I'd get the same questions next time around. I pretty much gave up telling anyone. I'd just plug away at my job and deal with the sugar variances on my own. But, if you're ever playing a drinking game of trivia, you can ask if anyone knows the normal range of blood sugar. Although even from doctors and nurses I hear as many different answers as there are people answering. But, my answer (and I'm sticking to it) is 90-110 mg/dl. Anyway....

In some ways I have been very lucky with this mother of a disease. For example my eyes, which are usually the first thing to start to fail with a diabetic, only show signs of normal aging. In other ways, not so much. Last year, I lost a toe because ol' hard head here insisted on taking care of his own feet. I cut a callous too close and after 6 months of IV antibiotics, it was "so long, Mr. Big Toe." First the bone, which is where the infection had taken up residence. A month later the remaining tissue because another infection had set in.

This "autobiography," for want of a better word, will be presented in several chapters. I'm writing it with the hopes that if even one young Diabetic reads it and takes better care of themselves, this story will have served its purpose.

Everything I will write in this essay is absolutely true to the best of my memory. I hope at times to make you laugh; other times to make you think. Especially if you are or if you know a Type 1 Diabetic, even a Type 2, which is different in treatment but equally deadly.

So, whether you suffer from Diabetes or if you're reading up on it because you live or work with one I hope you are able to take something useful and positive away from this.

I'd like to mention now that my language can sometimes be a little, mmm, how can I say, coarse. So if your eyeballs are tender, I apologize in advance. Having said that, it's on to Chapter 1.

I was a fairly active kid when I was growing up in Clara, Mississippi. "Where is Clara?" you may ask should you refer to a map. I always liked to tease people by saying, "It's halfway between Shubuta and Buckatunna. That is a true statement but does not clear up the mystery. Clara is near Waynesboro which is halfway between Mobile, AL and Meridian, MS.

Anyway, I was always getting into something. I was stung nearly to death by fire ants when I was about 18 months old. I fell off the shed, where I had climbed to play with the cats, when I was 4 and broke my collarbone. My older brother accidentally shot me at point blank range with a .22 caliber pistol when I was 6. I broke my wrist when I was 8. You get the idea.

To this day, I'm firmly convinced I was hypoglycemic as a child. I can say that now that I'm grown up and know more about hypo- and hyperglycemia. So why do I bring that up? Hypoglycemia is sometimes a precursor to full-blown Diabetes. Here's my evidence.

My brother Jeff (yes, the one that shot me) and I would walk two miles to the creek at Clara to go swimming. After walking, swimming and diving and thrashing around for a little while, I would start to feel so weak that I could barely walk.

Jeff and I would head to the little store at the crossroads (about 100 yards from the creek) where Mom and Dad had a charge account. I would be nearly blind with hunger by the time we got there and so weak, standing was really becoming a problem. After two or three candy bars, chocolate milk and a Stewart sandwich from the toaster oven (There were no microwaves back then) I'd start to feel better. More than a few times I'd yak it back up because I virtually inhaled everything I could get my hands on. Then I'd have gotten back at myself a bit so I would get a more modest snack.

At that time, I didn't know about hypoglycemia. I knew a little about Diabetes because my great Aunt Verda had it and my mom had to go give her injections several times a day. I thought everyone felt that way after thrashing about in or out of the creek so I never mentioned these episodes to Mom or Dad.

Knowing now what hypoglycemia feels like when I have too much insulin in my bloodstream, I'm pretty darn sure I was on the other side of the scale before I was diagnosed.

I was a very skinny little kid until my dad went to work for KFC in 1971. Jeff and I worked for him in the restaurant and Dad brought boxes of chicken home at night ostensibly for the dogs. Now I'm not talking about a box like a one person dinner comes in. I'm talking about a 2 foot by 3 foot case full of chicken.

My brother and I would pig out on the still hot chicken to "The Midnight Special" or "Night Gallery" or "The Twilight Zone." At first, I didn't notice any difference. Then my clothes started getting tight and Mom was having to take me to get new clothes more and more frequently. Dad stopped with the glutton fests but that didn't stop my gut and my ass from expanding like a new solar system.

We moved from the country to the great town of Forest, MS, when I was 12. Forest, at the time, was a town of about 8,000. It has no particular claim to fame that I can recall. I was "husky" but not too terribly bloated by this time. I didn't have many friends in Forest, however. In my opinion, the kids were really stuck up. They were grouped tragically into "haves" and "have-nots." The two despised each other but they mostly were united in giving me a hard time. My one best friend, Donald Webb, was killed by a hit and run drunk driver who ultimately got off on some bullshit technicality.

After that, I kind of withdrew from the rest of the class. I worked for my dad at KFC as an order packer or cook a couple of nights a week. I went to work for the local theater on the weekends and was soon put in charge of the concession stand. I was 12 years old, working two jobs and making about $65 a week. Back in 1973, that was about 1/3 what my dad made as a KFC store manager. Suffice it to say, financially I wasn't doing too bad. I would still get weak spells if I skipped a meal or did some heavy duty pedaling on my bike but I still never mentioned them to my parents.

In 1975, Dad got transferred again to another store that was having problems. We moved to Kosciusko, MS. I was kind of bummed about having to give up my lucrative jobs there but other than that, I was ready to put Forest behind me, and quick. I was 14, 5 feet 6 inches and bending the scales at around 250.

I had moderately high hopes for Kosciusko. It took a couple of years being that I was a) the new fat kid and b) whose father ran a fast food restaurant. I caught pure hell with the fat jokes. Christ, did I catch hell. I got involved in the middle school band and buried myself into learning the French Horn. I immersed myself in that which got me noticed by the high school band director. Come to find out, Kosciusko was one of those very rare Southern towns that cared as much about the band as it did about the football team.

As a result, and largely because of the efforts of one Charles M. Grove, Band Director, Kosciusko had one hell of a high school band. I was asked to join the high school band during concert season while I was in the 8th grade. That was really an honor because I'd never heard such a powerful sound that was so clean and clear. I felt like I was home.

After I suffered in silence through the rest of the 8th grade, looking forward only to practicing with the high school band. I finally moved to high school and my first "for real" sweaty-palmed try-out for the band. Turned out all that practice paid off because I tied for first chair with a senior. I nearly passed out after the try-out and downed three or four Hershey bars in record time.

I became totally immersed in the band. I made a few friends who, like me, were outcasts. I made it through ninth grade nearly blacking out after every marching band practice and too scared to tell my mom, who was going through menopause and eager to remove our heads from our shoulders if we mentioned illness. Dad was Mr. KFC and not really interested in what was going on at home except for report card time. Not to say that I blame my parents for any of this. They did a good job raising us. It's just I was the youngest of 6 children and by the time I came along, Mom had it down to a science and Dad was chronically difficult to approach.

As far as report cards, I usually got a couple of A's, 2 or 3 B's and a C or two depending but usually the low grades were math and science. I hated both classes. Largely because of the subjects themselves but I shared both classes with a few of my worst critics. The names were becoming more colorful. I'll leave those to your imagination.

I made it to 10th grade and toyed with the idea of dropping out. I had a job at the local franchised drive-in burger joint. There was already talk of making me a shift leader even though I wasn't 18 yet. I was accepted there and people respected me for a change. School was a nightmare for me. "Crispy Legs" was the moniker of choice for everyone. Get it? KFC Extra Crispy? Some of the abuse was becoming physical and I was having a horrible time dealing with it. Mom and Dad didn't want to hear about it. Ditto for any of my teachers.

I was knocking at the door of 350 lbs.. Despite a 6" growth spurt from 5'10" to 6'4", I was still fargin' fat. Finding clothes was becoming a real chore. I was getting hammered at school. There was no one I could talk to about it. Even my so-called friends jumped on the "Fat-ass" bandwagon on occasion. From them, it was a little more tolerable because they had their obvious drawbacks too. I wished every night I could get rid of my enormous gut and legs.

Then I learned to be careful what I wish for.

On to Chapter 2

Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5