Diabetes, Identity, and the Number 11

By Gus Saltonstall

I do not make wishes when the clock hits 11:11.

While many have lucky associations with the number 11, it holds a very different place in my world.

On November 11, 2011, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes.

In other words, on 11/11/11, I found out that I had an autoimmune disease with the number 1 in it. The diagnosis happened in the morning, and my family tells me it was just after 11 a.m. when the doctor delivered the news.

At the time, I had recently turned 16 years old. I was 6’2 and weighed just 125 pounds. For the prior few months I had a strange set of growing symptoms that I had written off as nothing too serious or not connected.

I was thirsty all of the time. My eye sight had worsened. My skin was drier than usual. My feet tingled every once in a while. I was so tired.

When we noticed the weight loss, we went to the doctor. A normal blood sugar sits between 80 and 120. Mine was 585. We were immediately sent to the emergency room. The doctors said I was lucky to have not fallen into a coma.

On that morning, I remember my dad calling his office to tell them he would not be in on that day because, “my son was just diagnosed with diabetes.” Even now, I also remember having a visceral negative reaction to him sharing my new found condition.

I didn’t want anybody to know.

The aversion to people knowing about my new diagnosis stayed with me. It took a month to tell my closest friends. As the time went on, it would continue to badly bother me if a friend or family member told somebody new that I was a diabetic. I wanted to control that information.

On some level, it was shame.

The idea that if people knew I had diabetes, they would think of differently, they would think of me as sick, they would think of me as lesser.

As I went through the end of my teenage years and into my early twenties, it seemed like I could group others with Type 1 Diabetes, which generally gets diagnosed in adolescence, into two groups. Those that I felt made it large parts of their identity, posted about it on social media, and would be quick to share about the disease; compared with those where you would never know they had diabetes unless you stumbled into them at a doctor’s visit.

I used to have a strong opinion on these differing approaches, but what I’ve realized is there is no right or wrong formula to living with a chronic condition. People need to find what works best for them. But, I know I’ve struggled with how much to make diabetes a part of my outward identity.

I already have multiple pieces of equipment hanging off of me, I already have to change my insulin needle every two to three days, I already have to count my carbs before every meal, I already have calloused over finger tips from checking my blood sugar, I already have to keep a constant companion of cranberry juice with me where I go, and I already have multiple apps on my phone constantly running to help me best manage.

With all that, how much do I really need to talk about it?

But, I’ve also come to learn learn that having any sort of shame over a medical condition is neither fair to yourself nor productive in helping you best manage whatever that condition might be.

So, as we approach November 11, 2024, which will 13 years of living with my diabetes, I’m glad to say I no longer shudder at the thought of sharing this all with you.

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