Type1 Diabetes, my story, Part 2

I left the update at my return to the UK.

I felt reasonably fit and although still having dizziness and blackouts still couldn’t admit there was a problem. I was still convinced it was a temporary setback. I had beaten addiction 20 years before, raised myself up from living on the streets of London at my lowest ebb a few years before that, this was another thing that would be beaten. 

After a night at the temple, I had to hit the ground running to get back into the 'system' in the UK, four years abroad had changed a lot of the things people take for granted such as proof of residency. I visited my sister and tried to sort out all my bank details on that day. We also organised the meeting time for my Nan’s funeral. 

The next day I was eating breakfast in the community kitchen when almost everyone commented on how ill I looked. I was feeling a bit feeble and still couldn’t walk at London pace, but didn’t realise how bad things were. The constant pain from my feet was getting worse, I thought the numbness in my hands was due to the cold weather. 

My good friend walked me to the hospital, where I visited the urgent care center. Initially the doctors tried to put me off and tell me they probably wouldn’t be able to even see me that day. The last time I had been there with my wife, we got there Friday morning and finally saw someone on Monday afternoon!

After a few minutes, I was asked for a urine sample and was immediately called in to see one of the doctors. After a brief chat about my symptoms, the doctor casually told me that I looked really healthy and fit (great all that work in the Chiang Mai gym was worth it!). This was followed by “...but you are probably the sickest person I have seen all week.” 

I was rushed into St. Thomas’ Hospital where I was placed in the emergency ward. I had three machines connected to me giving mixtures of sodium, insulin and other electrolytes with water. Nothing new for me, with several episodes of near death; anaphylaxis and another when I collapsed after internally bleeding for three days, it kind of felt normal. I was on death’s door though and wondered how many more lives  I had left. Last time I was in this position, I had emergency transfusions of blood for 12 hours and a catheter, so the lack of these gave me some hope. It had been mentioned that I had diabetes, it still didn’t register. They had suggested it a few years prior when I collapsed from the burst ulcer. I vehemently denied it at the time and still felt it highly unlikely that with my lifestyle and eating habits I could have this deadly disease. Type 1 didn't even cross my mind as there was no history of it in the few 'blood relatives' I knew.

Hospital, not much fun.

My sister and brother-in-law were absolute stars and came to see me the next day. This was quite important to me as I had only just got back to the UK and was still disorientated. The weather, the language, the places, like long time memories coming back to life. The small changes like plastic money, new road layouts, and different buildings. The lack of any stability at that time wasn't helping; my grandmother's funeral was in a few days but any plans after that didn't exist. I was obviously too sick to support myself. Another very close friend had offered me a place to stay until I could get my feet, surely this would be too much to ask if I couldn't even work now. My training as a buddhist came handy as realisation dawned, this truly was a time of being free of attachments albeit in harsh conditions. The hospital wanted to keep me in for observations, after the tests came back, they told me I had been admitted with severe DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis). After another short interview it was assessed that it had been constantly affecting me for over a year. The ability to survive for so long without any medication was noted as extremely rare, another escape from the belly of death. Something I put down to the fasting and yoga I had been doing while in Thailand, although the previous few weeks had been a bit of a keto fest.

The hospital discharged me in time to go to my grandmother's funeral and booked an outpatient appointment for the day after. Returning to, what was then, my temporary accommodation I just kind of carried on. I don't remember feeling anxious, just feeling that this was more of the crap that was being thrown at me and I would get through it as best as I could. On my return, the offer of staying at the temple until things were better lifted my spirits. A real place of refuge. At this time, although feeling a little stronger and having a new regime of insulin injecting I didn't quite understand, there was no expectation I would be rushed back in to the hospital again so soon.

Stomach cramps and pain in my extremities filled my days now. Headaches and general lack of energy made it hard for me to do anything properly. At one point I forgot my own name and birthday. A sense of emptiness came over me as I realised I was there but didn't realise who was there. Luckily these episodes didn't last too long. I was rushed into hospital again at one stage with suspected thyroid issues and was kept under observation for over a week. During this time it was like torture for me. The beds were so soft my back was killing me. I did a lot of yoga poses at this time to try to improve my health and whether it was due to this or some other phenomena, I was discharged in slightly better health. 

  The advice I was given by the nutritionist was probably the worse I could have got.  I don't blame them though, it seemed like the advice from a work weary person who had given up on trying to explain macronutrients to people. It didn't seem possible to me, but my general health just got worse.