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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by peytonjane

Taking a "Shot" at Growing Up

Olivia and I sat in our school library at recess, a syringe in my hand, a lunchbox in hers. While this may have been a funny sight to most outsiders, this was our reality. Within six months of each other, Olivia and I were both diagnosed with Juvenile Type I Diabetes (T1D). At age nine, I self-administered insulin shots six times a day, while seven-year-old Olivia relied on her mother to carry out such duties. However, that particular day, Olivia’s mom was stuck in traffic, delaying her lunchtime routine. So as her fellow diabetic, Olivia trusted me to administer her shot.

Over time, the insulin pump tubes and finger-sticking needles that accompany this disease have become mundane, and I think very little about my illness and how it sets me apart. However, in reflection, I see my disability as a foundation for super-abilities. By age ten, I knew the number of carbohydrates in any food. By age twelve, I understood a simple version of the endocrine system. Additionally, I have spent years explaining that my illness is not due to poor diet, but instead is an autoimmune disorder with no known cause. Consequently, I have learned exceptional patience and tolerance. Once at a birthday party, instead of cake, a parent served me strawberries and her weight-loss story, despite the fact that, at the time, I was five feet tall and weighed one hundred pounds.

It will forever amuse me that, even after eight years as a diabetic, many non-diabetics believe they know more about my disease than I do. Even though I am not banned from certain foods, as some believe, managing T1D does require a lot of maintenance; I spend a large amount of my time navigating needles, site insets, fluctuating blood glucose levels, and tri-monthly check-ups at the hospital. While most people live with a working pancreas, I have become the master of my own organ. I choose to take care of my body every day because if simply cannot take care of itself.

Living with T1D is exhausting; however, had a cure existed, I would not have acquired certain attributes that have shaped me as a person, such as my enduring self-discipline. While time-consuming, the constant task of micro-managing has made me a highly productive and goal-oriented person. My freshman year, I dragged myself out of bed at four in the morning and caught a public bus that took me to a ferry. There, I slept until I reached the sleepless city of Seattle and walked to another bus with my other commuting friends. As I hopped off the public transit and walked to school, the nurses, construction workers, and business men wished me a good day. I commuted six hours every day because I wanted to go to a school that would challenge me. I have always pushed myself to my full potential, even when it meant taking on adult responsibilities. By maintaining good health and tackling tasks at hand, I have built habits that allow me to do other work well, whether that is in school, in film, at home, or in service. Without this disease, I would not know my own personal strength, resilience, and perseverance, which impact my perspective on and approach to life.

I appreciate the person I have become through my T1D. Working directly with my health has forced me to take on adult challenges and foster constant grit as I grow as an individual. Living with this disease is time-consuming, draining, expensive, and often dangerous. However, with these disadvantages comes great reward. I am resilient, tenacious, patient, tolerant, and aware; I know when to ask for help and when to act independently, and most importantly, I’ve learned that obstacles are opportunities to become a better student, friend, citizen, and storyteller for tomorrow.

10
3
2
Juice
37 reads
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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by peytonjane
Taking a "Shot" at Growing Up
Olivia and I sat in our school library at recess, a syringe in my hand, a lunchbox in hers. While this may have been a funny sight to most outsiders, this was our reality. Within six months of each other, Olivia and I were both diagnosed with Juvenile Type I Diabetes (T1D). At age nine, I self-administered insulin shots six times a day, while seven-year-old Olivia relied on her mother to carry out such duties. However, that particular day, Olivia’s mom was stuck in traffic, delaying her lunchtime routine. So as her fellow diabetic, Olivia trusted me to administer her shot.

Over time, the insulin pump tubes and finger-sticking needles that accompany this disease have become mundane, and I think very little about my illness and how it sets me apart. However, in reflection, I see my disability as a foundation for super-abilities. By age ten, I knew the number of carbohydrates in any food. By age twelve, I understood a simple version of the endocrine system. Additionally, I have spent years explaining that my illness is not due to poor diet, but instead is an autoimmune disorder with no known cause. Consequently, I have learned exceptional patience and tolerance. Once at a birthday party, instead of cake, a parent served me strawberries and her weight-loss story, despite the fact that, at the time, I was five feet tall and weighed one hundred pounds.
It will forever amuse me that, even after eight years as a diabetic, many non-diabetics believe they know more about my disease than I do. Even though I am not banned from certain foods, as some believe, managing T1D does require a lot of maintenance; I spend a large amount of my time navigating needles, site insets, fluctuating blood glucose levels, and tri-monthly check-ups at the hospital. While most people live with a working pancreas, I have become the master of my own organ. I choose to take care of my body every day because if simply cannot take care of itself.

Living with T1D is exhausting; however, had a cure existed, I would not have acquired certain attributes that have shaped me as a person, such as my enduring self-discipline. While time-consuming, the constant task of micro-managing has made me a highly productive and goal-oriented person. My freshman year, I dragged myself out of bed at four in the morning and caught a public bus that took me to a ferry. There, I slept until I reached the sleepless city of Seattle and walked to another bus with my other commuting friends. As I hopped off the public transit and walked to school, the nurses, construction workers, and business men wished me a good day. I commuted six hours every day because I wanted to go to a school that would challenge me. I have always pushed myself to my full potential, even when it meant taking on adult responsibilities. By maintaining good health and tackling tasks at hand, I have built habits that allow me to do other work well, whether that is in school, in film, at home, or in service. Without this disease, I would not know my own personal strength, resilience, and perseverance, which impact my perspective on and approach to life.

I appreciate the person I have become through my T1D. Working directly with my health has forced me to take on adult challenges and foster constant grit as I grow as an individual. Living with this disease is time-consuming, draining, expensive, and often dangerous. However, with these disadvantages comes great reward. I am resilient, tenacious, patient, tolerant, and aware; I know when to ask for help and when to act independently, and most importantly, I’ve learned that obstacles are opportunities to become a better student, friend, citizen, and storyteller for tomorrow.

10
3
2
Juice
37 reads
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Challenge of the Week #60: You have just discovered a new lifeform. Write a story of 200 words or more. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by peytonjane

Dish Duty

I scraped the dried rice and beans off my plate that had been sitting there for a week. I'd been too lazy - too depressed - to tackle the pile of ceramics that sat in my sink. I hated that I did this, but I guess part of me thought I would've hated the chore more last week. Every once in a while, dish washing relaxed me, like I was washing away all the grime from my thoughts as well. 

I went to place the plate on the barren shelf; my sink might as well have been my cupboard. It had been months since I'd drained my garbage disposal, and it was starting to stink. I flipped the switch and returned to organizing my dishes when I heard a loud, guttural squeal. I dropped the plate to the floor, and it shattered. I flipped the disposal switch off, and when I sighed, it sighed too. Regretfully, I reached my hand down the drain, assuming I would pull out a lost spoon or a misplaced quarter. Instead, I pulled out a small, furry ball with huge, solemn eyes. 

I screamed and dropped it to the ground, causing it to roll around, avoiding broken glass. I jumped up on my kitchen table chair and grabbed the nearest spatula, holding it like an axe above my head. Instead of scurrying away like a rodent, it rolled slowly and quietly to the foot of my chair and looked up at me. 

I took a long look at it. The furry, moss-like ball inflated and deflated like a breathing balloon. I took a breath and screamed, smashing it with my foot and ground it into the kitchen tile. Stomping, as if I were killing a spider over and over, just to ensure it was dead, I finally removed my soggy shoe, revealing a wet residue squashed at my feet.

I always do my dishes now. 

15
6
3
Juice
126 reads
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Juice
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Challenge of the Week #60: You have just discovered a new lifeform. Write a story of 200 words or more. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by peytonjane
Dish Duty
I scraped the dried rice and beans off my plate that had been sitting there for a week. I'd been too lazy - too depressed - to tackle the pile of ceramics that sat in my sink. I hated that I did this, but I guess part of me thought I would've hated the chore more last week. Every once in a while, dish washing relaxed me, like I was washing away all the grime from my thoughts as well. 

I went to place the plate on the barren shelf; my sink might as well have been my cupboard. It had been months since I'd drained my garbage disposal, and it was starting to stink. I flipped the switch and returned to organizing my dishes when I heard a loud, guttural squeal. I dropped the plate to the floor, and it shattered. I flipped the disposal switch off, and when I sighed, it sighed too. Regretfully, I reached my hand down the drain, assuming I would pull out a lost spoon or a misplaced quarter. Instead, I pulled out a small, furry ball with huge, solemn eyes. 

I screamed and dropped it to the ground, causing it to roll around, avoiding broken glass. I jumped up on my kitchen table chair and grabbed the nearest spatula, holding it like an axe above my head. Instead of scurrying away like a rodent, it rolled slowly and quietly to the foot of my chair and looked up at me. 

I took a long look at it. The furry, moss-like ball inflated and deflated like a breathing balloon. I took a breath and screamed, smashing it with my foot and ground it into the kitchen tile. Stomping, as if I were killing a spider over and over, just to ensure it was dead, I finally removed my soggy shoe, revealing a wet residue squashed at my feet.

I always do my dishes now. 
15
6
3
Juice
126 reads
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