I was also in a performing group called Onstage. It was a dancing and singing company in Salt Lake City. My group had auditioned to be a children’s choir in the Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat production at Kingsbury Hall. Of course we nailed the audition! Our roll in the production was to sit on the sides of the stage and sing the songs as they went along with the play. As we had rehearsals, I would start to feel sick and have to urinate really bad. So bad that the director would have to stop the rehearsal and take me off stage because I would start to cry. This happened on and off for weeks. When the rehearsals were over and we started the actual performances (that people payed a LOT of money to come see), it was not an option for me to leave the stage to urinate. At the end of the first week, the director had had enough. She talked to my mom and told her that I needed a doctor's excuse if I was to continue, otherwise I was out.
That night my mom sat me down in her room and explained the situation. Me being the little nine year old that I was, became extremely scared. I didn’t want to go to the doctor, because I didn’t want to find out something was wrong with me. When she told me that if we didn’t go to the doctor I would be cut from the play and I wouldn’t get paid, I managed to drum up the bravery and figured the doctor wouldn’t be so bad. Hey I was a sucker for money!The next morning I woke up and did not feel very well at all. My mom had a friend that told her I may have diabetes (she recognized the symptoms). She had a son with diabetes and she told us to come over to her house so we could check my blood glucose. When we got to her house and checked my blood glucose, it was in the upper four hundreds.
Without worrying my mom too much, she suggested we get to the doctor. When we left her home, she called my dad and suggested that he tell my mom to skip the doctor and go straight to the hospital. He called us and we promptly headed up to the ER at Primary Children’s. My mom being concerned that I had not eaten breakfast, gave me a banana on the way to the hospital...bad idea!
We walked in the hospital, my mom told the receptionist that we had checked my blood at her friends and it was in the high four hundreds. Needless to say, they rushed me into a room and started iv's as they asked if I had eaten anything since. We answered, yes a banana and suddenly everyone was in the room and we soon found out that my blood sugar was then over 700! A while later after having my blood drawn and an IV put in my hand. They moved me into a room and explained that I would need to stay there for a few days. The testing and learning my family and I had to do would take a while, because I was in fact diabetic.
I spent the next three days in the hospital. I have to say that I didn’t really mind being there for that long. I had people waiting on me and bringing me gifts! TV all day, and my choice of video games. My family all came up and learned how to give shots- it was actually kind of fun. I just didn't realize the reason we were all learning this fun 'stick the needle in the orange' trick, was because I was going to be the orange! One thing I do remember hating was being woken up in the middle of the night by a stinging finger prick, given by a smiling nurse. I was sure the smile came from the pleasure she got from my surprised look and the pain she caused. Once I had “served my time” my family and I packed up our stuff and headed home. I was excited to be back to my old life.
When we walked into my house my mom said “ok, its time to check your blood.” I was really confused. I asked her “why do I need to check my blood?” The fact that this was going to be a life long endeavor had eluded me. It hadn’t hit me that I was going to be facing this for the rest of my life until that moment. Overwhelmed with self pity I broke down and started to cry.
The next few weeks would prove to be a bit of a challenge. My mom and dad kept a close eye on me at all times. I hated it (what nine year old wouldn’t?). All I could think about was why me? Why had I been given this horrible disease? I wanted things to go back to the way they were. . . .
