The Day Everything Changed

The Day Everything Changed

October 21, 2010.

I was only five years old.

At that age, life was simple. I wasn’t thinking about hospitals, blood tests, or chronic illnesses. I was just a little girl enjoying childhood, completely unaware that my life was about to change forever.

A few months before my diagnosis, I had spent three months in Germany. When I returned to Kuwait, I was excited to be back home. I didn’t notice anything unusual about myself, but my father did.

The moment he saw me, he knew something wasn’t right.

I had lost a significant amount of weight. My face was pale. I looked weak and exhausted. I didn’t look like the little girl he remembered before I left.

I still remember what he said:

“This is not Alzain. This is not the Alzain I know.”

As a father, he knew his daughter. He knew something was wrong.

That same day, he took me to Al Salam Hospital. The doctors ran blood tests and told us to wait.

A few hours later, the phone rang.

The hospital told my father to bring me back immediately.

No explanation.

No details.

Just come now.

Everything happened so quickly.

When we arrived, the doctors realized my condition was much more serious than they had initially thought. They told my parents that I needed to be transferred to Al Ameeri Hospital immediately.

At five years old, I didn’t understand what was happening.

I didn’t know what diabetes was.

I didn’t know why everyone looked worried.

I didn’t know why I was suddenly being moved from one hospital to another.

All I knew was that I was scared.

When we arrived at Al Ameeri Hospital, everything felt overwhelming.

Doctors.

Nurses.

Machines.

Needles.

Blood tests.

Questions.

People constantly walking in and out of my room.

I remember feeling terrified.

I remember crying.

I remember wanting to go home.

Then came the moment that changed my life forever.

The doctors told my parents that I had Type 1 Diabetes.

They also told them something that still gives me chills to this day.

If they had waited any longer, I could have slipped into a diabetic coma.

My parents were shocked.

Terrified.

Confused.

Nobody expected this.

There was no warning.

One moment they had brought their daughter to the hospital because she looked unwell.

The next moment they were being told she had a lifelong condition and could have lost her life if they had arrived any later.

While I was trying to understand why I was in a hospital bed, my parents were trying to understand a completely different reality.

A reality filled with insulin.

Blood sugar checks.

Injections.

Carbohydrate counting.

Highs.

Lows.

Ketones.

Hospital visits.

A reality they had never imagined for their little girl.

The hospital became my home.

I spent days there undergoing tests and learning about a life I never asked for.

One of the things I remember most is the blood tests.

There were so many of them.

Because I was severely dehydrated, finding blood wasn’t always easy.

The nurses would try my hands.

My arms.

And sometimes even my feet.

As a five-year-old little girl, every needle felt terrifying.

Every time someone walked into my room, I wondered if I was about to get another blood test.

I cried.

I got scared.

Sometimes I didn’t understand why this kept happening.

But somehow, even as a child, I kept going.

Looking back now, I realize that my diagnosis wasn’t only difficult for me.

It was difficult for my parents too.

My mother had to learn how to give insulin injections to her daughter.

My father had to learn how to manage blood sugar levels and recognize the signs of highs and lows.

They had to learn everything overnight.

And although I know they were scared, they never stopped showing up for me.

Growing up with Type 1 Diabetes wasn’t easy.

People often think diabetes is only about food.

They think about it when they see someone counting carbohydrates or taking insulin before a meal.

But diabetes follows you everywhere.

I have diabetes when I wake up.

I have diabetes when I go to sleep.

I have diabetes when I’m studying.

I have diabetes when I’m traveling.

I have diabetes when I’m at the gym.

I have diabetes when I’m out with friends.

I have diabetes every second of every day.

Growing up with Type 1 Diabetes meant finger pricks, daily injections, appointments, blood sugar checks, ketones, juice boxes, glucose tablets, correction doses, carb counting, and midnight alarms.

It meant carrying supplies everywhere I went.

It meant constantly thinking about something most people never have to think about.

When I was younger, I hated the attention.

I hated feeling different.

I hated when people asked questions.

I wanted to be like everyone else.

What many people didn’t understand was that I didn’t get diabetes because I ate too much sugar.

I didn’t choose it.

I wasn’t born with it.

And there was no cure.

There were days when I felt frustrated.

Days when I felt exhausted.

Days when I felt misunderstood.

Because Type 1 Diabetes is a battle against your own body.

A battle with no breaks.

No weekends off.

No finish line.

Yet somehow, through every high and every low, diabetes taught me lessons I never expected to learn.

It taught me resilience.

It taught me patience.

It taught me responsibility.

It taught me courage.

Most importantly, it taught me how strong I truly am.

Today, almost sixteen years later, I look back at that scared five year old girl with so much love.

She had no idea what was ahead of her.

She had no idea she would learn to manage injections, finger pricks, sensors, insulin pumps, hospital visits, and everything else that comes with Type 1 Diabetes.

She had no idea she would one day become proud of her journey.

If I could go back and speak to her, I would tell her that everything will be okay.

I would tell her that she is stronger than she thinks.

I would tell her that one day she will stop seeing diabetes as something that only took from her and start seeing the strength it gave her.

Do I love diabetes?

No.

I never will.

But I am grateful for the person this journey has helped me become.

Because through every injection, every blood test, every hospital visit, every high, every low, every tear, and every challenge, diabetes taught me something I will never forget:

I am stronger than I ever imagined.

October 21, 2010 was the day everything changed.

But it was also the day my story began.