This content originally appeared on diaTribe. Republished with permission.
By Liz Kopco
Molecular biologist Liz Kopco has been living with type 2 diabetes since 2014. Together with advocating for ladies and girls in STEM, Kopco shares her personal journey with diabetes to assist teach people to change into their very own advocates.
Growing up surrounded by diabetes – most of my mother’s family lives with type 2 diabetes – I saw firsthand how difficult a life with diabetes could possibly be.
That’s why I’ve all the time been very health-conscious. I ran half marathons, 5Ks, did intense workouts, and tried to eat as many salads as possible. I used to be going to be the “exception” to my family’s curse.
I pushed my body with intense cardio workouts. I needed to work out or I’d get diabetes. Shedding weight was the one approach to prevent it. That’s what I used to be all the time told. Then I ended up blacking out after a workout and hitting my head on the dining table on the best way down.
While checking for a concussion, my doctor ordered some bloodwork, and I used to be diagnosed with prediabetes. I needed to “drop pounds and eat healthy” if I wanted a fighting likelihood. So I worked out even harder. I ate even less. And I one way or the other still ended up getting diagnosed with type 2 diabetes just a number of months later at age 23.
The nutritionist I saw gave me a pamphlet, wished me luck, and that was all of the support I got.
I felt like I had failed. I used to be too young. I didn’t look “diabetic.” I wasn’t lazy. I had actually tried.
I might go to the toilet to prick my finger or not check my blood sugar levels in any respect so people wouldn’t know I had diabetes. I didn’t need to have to clarify all once more that I knew I used to be too young, didn’t look diabetic, and wasn’t lazy.
I didn’t realize I had internalized a lot stigma until I used to be placed on insulin 4 years later. I remember my uncle all the time telling me to handle myself so I wouldn’t “worsen and find yourself on insulin like my family.”
I’m the daughter of Mexican immigrants, and as I discussed, many members of the family on my mom’s side have type 2 diabetes. It’s the explanation I made a decision to pursue a profession in science – to assist discover a cure for diabetes.
And here I used to be, worse, failing yet again. I beat myself up for letting it get “this bad,” unaware that insulin was just like every other medicine and had no moral value.
I almost didn’t take my insulin due to stigma. These misconceptions and negative associations with type 2 diabetes made an already difficult situation even tougher.
Last yr I had my first big surgery; I got my gallbladder removed. I used to be so nervous and anxious about having surgery, not knowing what to anticipate. Doctors and nurses kept coming out and in of my room, asking so many questions that I couldn’t remember who was who.
Finally, the anesthesiologist got here in – the last doctor before going into surgery. She grabbed my chart and asked what variety of diabetes I had. I said, “Type 2.” Without the remaining of my medical history, talking to my endocrinologist, and even asking me more questions, she simply said, “Type 2 and on insulin? Wow, you need to be really bad.”
That’s the final thing I remember before waking up from surgery. The next two weeks that I must have been specializing in recovering I spent crying. Replaying that moment again and again in my head and beating myself up for not saying something to her. A physician who must have had higher bedside manners. A physician made several assumptions about me based on one fact: that I took insulin.
I cried out of anger. I cried because although I knew higher and that she was perpetuating stigma, I also knew that she probably said things like that to other patients who didn’t know higher.
Other patients who thought being on insulin should be bad so that they stopped taking it. Other patients who didn’t feel comfortable speaking as much as a physician. Other patients who were possibly already frightened about surgery and in addition went into it with their hearts pounding and eyes watering.
Gaining a diabetes diagnosis shouldn’t mean losing respect. I’m fortunate to have access to the tools I want to administer my diabetes, including therapy. It’s taken years of therapy to unlearn stigmas and acknowledge my biases – something not everyone has the chance to do.
Due to diabetes stigma and stereotypes, my relationship with food has been destroyed. I had the idea that if I didn’t eat, I wouldn’t need as much insulin, and taking less insulin made me a “higher diabetic” because society said I shouldn’t have to be on medicine – just use cardio and cinnamon.
I spent years on the gym attempting to drop pounds to justify that I’m worthy of living. Society and providers take one take a look at me and blame my condition on my weight and culture.
“It’s all of the tortillas and fried food,” they said. But once I only eat lettuce, I one way or the other still have diabetes.
Because of stigma, a diabetes diagnosis means I’m the butt of each joke. It means I can’t eat anything aside from a vegetable without having someone make a comment or give me a glance.
Every single day I actually have two fights: one against diabetes progression and one against stigma. I actually have twice the fighting and sometimes half the resources to accomplish that. I can’t fight this alone.
Diabetes stigma is perpetuated and upheld by society and it’ll take society to finish it. Fighting it together is essential since it means I can concentrate on just living with diabetes.
It implies that more people will feel comfortable asking their doctors about getting tested and may get diagnosed earlier. Less stigma means more lives saved.
Learn more about diabetes stigma and find out how to change the narrative here: