Bunn’s Prairie

My tribute to the namesake of my health blog, is far overdue. For those of you who’ve wondered, and for myself, as well, I need to share with you the Story of Bunn.

A little over twenty years ago, I was introduced to a word that I was soon to discover would change every aspect of my ten-year-old life. Diabetes. More specifically, Type 1 Juvenile Diabetes. In that same breath from the Doctor came a barrage of other foreign, unfamiliar phrases: “insulin, injections, blood glucose levels, keytones…,spilling protein in my urine, My pancreas no longer could produce insulin… my body had no way to breakdown sugars in the blood and help muscle, tissue, and organ cells use that sugar for energy…my body was “eating itself alive”… I was four feet, ten inches tall and weighed in at 57 pounds that morning. The night before, I had been “whooping it up” at the Girl Scout lock-in with my friends, and had even won the dance competition that night. Unfortunately, I also threw up more than once, and wound up passing out on my sleeping bag.

We were planning on departing for a family vacation to Washington DC the next day. That trip never happened. When someone brought me home from the lock-in, Mom knew something was very, very wrong with me, and my parents took me to the Doctor first thing in the morning. All of this swirled around me, as I tried to grasp ahold of what it meant. I was immediately scared, but not only that, I saw how much pain and fear my parents had. I knew I was the cause. A part of me retreated that day that never really found a way to come back out.

The next few weeks were a blur. We all had a crash course in Diabetes, and the harsh realities of the disease. Every Insulin injection was traumatic and my fingers were swollen and bruised. Meals centered entirely around measuring out portions and following my Meal plan. Though very different from how food is handled now with diabetes, at the time, a slice of bread was “a bread exchange”. Easter was approaching, which also threw a curve ball my parents’ way. “Without jellybeans and chocolate eggs in her basket, how can we still make our Easter traditions seem normal and fun?” I think we were all looking forward to Easter as a day to stop and breathe for a few minutes. My Mom has since told me that she walked past the Hallmark store in Brookdale, still trying to find a good Easterbasket solution, when she spotted the most beautiful stuffed bunny in the window. And, not only was he beautiful, but he had the kindest expression on his face. She showed him to Dad, and though I know the bunny in the window was expensive, they somehow felt a tug that HE would be able to soothe me and help ease the sugar-free Easter that was approaching.

I do not remember our exact moment of introduction, but from then on Bunn was at my side. I squeezed him when the shots stung. Held him close to my side when I was trying to learn more about my disease, and softly cried on him at night. He heard about all the things I was scared of, and also the times when my tears turned bitter and I couldn’t help but say “Why me?”. He was snuggled in so close — perfectly fitting into the nook of my side, that he had found his place next to my body and in my heart. He never got mad at me when my blood sugar was too high, he presssed up against my sore arm or leg until the stinging went away. He never turned his furry back on me when I needed a confidant. In fact, he even took a shot or two for me first, to let me know it wouldn’t be so bad. I don’t think I ever worried that I was a disappointment to Bunn. He was my best friend.

Later that summer, more had calmed into routine, and my Great Uncle Paul and Aunt Louise were helping to send me to Camp Needlepoint for a week. A whole week where every kid (and most of the couselors) were diabetic, and just like me! We planned out our meals, met with the Docs, tested our sugars, took our shots, carried sugar with us and helped out when someone had an insulin reaction. But that? That wasn’t camp. Camp was funny songs and campfires, cabins full of ghost stories and giggling girls, climbs up and down the swimming hill…and SAILING! For one week, we were all just kids having fun. Diabetes could finally take a back seat to something else. We weren’t freaks or inferior, we weren’t to be ashamed of or pitied, we were all simply “normal”. My first day at camp, I tested my own blood sugar for the first time, and by the end of the week, Bunn convinced me to give my own shot. I squeezed him against me, closed my eyes, and stuck the needle in my thigh. WE DID IT!