Never missed an insulin shot in 82years - Wow

A Friend sent me the below transcript of a show on Northwest Public Radio. This introduced me to Gladis Dull, who turns 90yrs this February. She has been living with type 1 Diabetes for 82years.

Stories like hers give me hope so I thought I would share it.


Gladis Dull of Walla Walla, Washington has taken insulin shots for most of her life.When insulin was first discovered over 80 years ago, everyone thought it was a cure for diabetes. Turns out the disease was more complicated. Gladis Dull of Walla Walla, Washington was one of the first people to get an insulin shot. Reporter Chana Joffe-Walt found she's a living history of diabetes treatment.First things first, you need to meet Gladis Dull.





Gladis: I have taken insulin for 82 years. Never missed a shot.


She's short, bony woman with a wrinkly smile. She starts almost every thought with: -
Well...Dull has type 1 Diabetes. That means she can't produce her own insulin.So she takes at least two shots of insulin a day. With the help of her son Norm Dull she's been keeping count.


Gladis: How many shots?


Norm: We figured you've taken insulin for 82 years so roughly you've had 59,860


Gladis: Yeah and I'm not in too bad shape for all those years.


Before all those shots, as a child Dull got very sick. She wasn't producing any insulin. People need insulin to convert glucose from food into energy. When she ate, sugar stayed in her bloodstream and damaged her organs.


Gladis: Well, when I was just 7 seven years I vomited, had to go to the bathroom all the time. And, uh, we didn't know anybody in the community where I lived there was nobody there with diabetes. They got me on insulin and I got along just fine. That was in 1924.


Dr. Hirsch: Let me put this into perspective for you.


This is Doctor Irl Hirsch. He's director of the Diabetes Care Center in Seattle.

Dr. Hirsch: Insulin did not really become widely available until 1923, 1924. At first for the first few years it was only really available in the larger urban areas.Canadian researchers discovered how to mass produce insulin in 1923. That means if Gladis Dull had gotten sick one year earlier, just one year, she probably would have died. Without insulin, glucose would have built up in her body and damaged her eyes, kidney and heart.

Dr. Hirsch specializes in the history and current clinical treatment Type 1 Diabetes at the University of Washington. He says, right before insulin some people with diabetes tried to save their lives by starving themselves. They were hoping to survive long enough for a cure.


Dr. Hirsch: Yeah it was very sad I mean the diagnosis of diabetes was really a death sentence. In a literal sense.


Dr. Hirsch is fascinated by Dull. Not because of her timely illness. But because she's still alive. The oldest patient Dr. Hirsch has ever seen just died at age 81.He says the fact that Dull has survived despite the crude tools we had to regulate blood sugar is remarkable. Most people who lived through those times had tons of complications. But this is what Gladis Dull was doing


Gladis: I've snowmobiled, bicycled, rode horseback, motorcycled, I've done about everything.


That makes Dr. Hirsch ask this question


Dr Hirsch: Why is it that there are some lucky chosen people that no matter how poor our tools were didn't get into trouble? Now, my guess is that these people have some sort of genetic protections, protecting them. And because of that, what I'd like to do is get some of her blood to see if indeed that's the case.


Dr. Hirsch thinks Gladis Dull could be key in his efforts to curb the diabetes epidemic. He's planning a special trip out to Walla Walla to get her blood. He gets excited just talking about it. What's Dull excited about?


Gladis: Well, looking forward to my 90th birthday. If I can make it that long I think it'd be a pretty good deal.Gladis Dull turns 90 this month. On her birthday, her insulin shot tally will top 60 thousand.
Listen

Extended & Combination bolus – An awesome power in the palm of my hand.

It is no secret how much I am in love with my insulin pump “Pumcy”, it is constantly attached to me infusing live sustaining insulin it makes managing my diabetes a little less annoying. It is often Pumcy, Adjoa and the city.
At this time of the year - there is a chill in the air and restaurants go through a post-Christmas drought not only because we are all trying so hard to hang on to our weight loss new years resolutions but the Christmas season has also left a dent in our wallets. In an effort to cure restaurant hibernation Vancouver tourism board and Visa presents the city with the most affordable way to experience the city on a plate, participating stylist and swanky restaurants offer a supreme three course dinner at inexpensive fixed price of $15, $25 or $35 per person. This event is also a way to feature British Columbia’s wines top restaurants are usually completely booked mere hours after they start accepting reservations.
Last Saturday our dine out Vancouver was experienced at Griffins one of the restaurants located at The Fairmont Hotel Vancouver, Griffins is the “causal” of the hotel’s restaurants and was offering a three course dinner at $25.00 per person. My carefully selected menu included Griffins’ Green Salad followed by a Squash and Ricotta Canneloni and for dessert a selection from their decadent dessert buffet featuring dozens of freshly baked desserts. My before diner blood glucose reading was 5.6, I used the combination bolus that featured a standard meal bolus with an extended bolus. 40% of my bolus was given upfront with the rest (60%) delivered extendedly for over a two hour period. An hour into dinning and my blood glucose rang in at 5.8, two hours later I a sat at 5.6. Curiously, I tested again at the three-hour mark 5.6 and 5.8 at the four-hour mark.

My pocket pancreas handled the outing with grace covering a meal that consisted of both rapidly and slowly absorbed carbohydrates as well as all the protein and fat. I believe severing size helped too – What you did not think they were going to exceed the real “standard” serving size on three courses for $25.00.

RIDING ON A ROLLERCOASTER {Blood Glucose Kind}

My first rollercoaster ride was during the summer of 1999; I was an adult and felt like a kid at an amusement park. I woke up early that morning with great anticipation of our fun filled day the drive from Montgomery Village to Paramount's Kings Dominion seemed like it took forever. I could not wait to go on the famed Anaconda, We rushed to wait our turn to be wrapped in coils of this awesome coaster and prepared for the 144-foot drop into the depths of the Anaconda. The ride was awful especially during the 144-foot drop as I held my breath depriving my brain of oxygen while I waited to land. I vowed never to ride another rollercoaster again; I never wanted to feel like I did ever again if I can help it.


On my way home from work this evening I felt my blood glucose going low, I had tested well within range before leaving work 15mins earlier driving west on highway one and not wanting to leave anything to chance I popped four glucose tabs into my mouth and drove on home. I got out of the car and felt I was not totally in control of my lower limbs I made my way into the apartment, I am the first one home and tested at 1.8mmol/l (32). I drunk a glass of milk my heart races, panic sets in I feel as if I am free falling and fast. I ate a tangerine, then a slice of my sister’s homemade dried mango loaf – Yum – I pour a cup of frozen sweet yellow corn, sprinkle some salt on it, into the microwave to nuke. While waiting for the corn I ate another slice of the yummy loaf, I still was not feelong like me yet. I ate the corn my sister comes home she asked if I was OK to which I say yes, I ate a cup of pasta then finishes it off with a piece of ricotta cheesecake. My sister asked once again if I was OK, I answer – yes!


I am now visited by the after low blood glucose headache and feeling so out of control as if I just rode the Anaconda. In disparate need for control and normalcy, I change into my running gear for our evening run. I start out OK however, my calf and thigh muscle burns making known they need insulin, I trace the outline of my meter with my fingers feeling it inside the Pump Pak that was housing it along with my pump. I was afraid of the number that would come up, I slowed to a jog then finally walked my evening run. I took a shower knowing that I have now rode the rollercoaster to the higher point but afraid to test my blood glucose, afraid to open my eyes to see just how far up on the rollercoaster I was now sitting. I dug Rufus, my Bear with Diabetes out of his hiding place.


I do not feel like being an analyst tonight trying to figure out what happened I do not once again want to learn that ratio’s and math formulas, work only when there is logic and with diabetes there is no logic. I just want to be………………………………………………

Innocence Lost

She was in the third grade and for the first time she found herself alone, doing the daily trip to and from school. A thirteen mile trip each way, with poor transportation system and no money most of the time, she relied on the kindness of strangers who will stop to give her a ride to cover part of her journey the other parts done on foot. She knew this day would come when her older brother will complete primary school and move on; she had worried about it in silence since the first grade. She quickly learned to fill the silence with stories she made up about the people she passed on her way, the houses along her route come alive as she made up stories in her head about the life’s of those that live in them. She always pictured a kid just like her living in those houses the better the kids life the better she felt as if for that moment she was living a parallel life, in her stories those kids are her.

One Friday afternoon half way through third grade, she was making the final part of her long way home on foot with about two and a half miles to go when an off white two door Datsun come to a stop about five hundred meters ahead of her. The story in her head drifted she wondered if the poor vehicle was out of gas or maybe water except, the car started reversing towards her coming to a stop again next to her. The driver she gathered by looking at him was an old, soft-spoken man. He leaned across the passenger seat rolling down the window, a gush of cool air from the air-conditioning escaped through the window gently brushing against her skin temporarily soothing her from the hot African sun. After learning that they were both headed in the same direction the driver offered her a ride she sat in the passenger seat with her book bag on her lap grateful for the extra time the ride has just afforded her. Time she needed to complete her math homework and to study for the spelling quiz she had the next morning, she wished she could start studying in the car but as customary the driver had a million questions for her. Her school uniform always gave her away her good “Samaritans” always curious as to why she was so far away from her school and intrigued by the fact that she was sent to attend school so far from home.

The driver slowed down with the road narrowing in the semi rural area in the outskirts of Accra heading eastward, he extended one hand towards her and in a swift movement moved her book bag to the back seat. You should be more comfortable he said, no need still carrying your load while sitting in a car. His hand returned onto her lap, his fingers making their way underneath her uniform, she cried trying to understand what was happening, he screamed at her “don’t be a baby” His fingers fighting to get past her panties while keeping his eyes on the road slowing to a crawl. She pleads to get out of the car praying for help, cars coming the opposite direction zipping past without a clue cars from behind overtake them. She twists her legs together as tightly as she can, he fights back with his fingernails, and She can feel the blood, fingernails cutting into her flesh. He swerved as the road curved scaring them both and coming to a stop. The little girl managers to get the door open and jump out of the car, the rural road lined only with forest she runs along it as fast as her legs can move crying. She hears a loud thump her book bag thrown out the window and the driver speeds off. The little girl gatheres her books and makes her way home rinsing off the blood stained uniform and panties never breathing a word about it to anyone.

I still accepted rides from strangers always saying a pray before hand, I convinced myself I could sense the bad strangers from the good ones. On Saturday morning during our run, I thought about this incidence curiously asking my younger sister if she was ever told not to talk to or go anywhere with strangers. How could we have been told that since we often depended on the “kindness” of strangers?