As a Type 1 Diabetic, my pregnancy was immediately considered high risk. Throughout each trimester, my blood sugars swung unpredictably, largely due to fluctuating hormone levels. Even after 13 years of managing my condition with daily insulin injections, my body’s response had grown unpredictable, leaving me constantly on edge.
In those early months of pregnancy, frequent low blood sugars became part of my daily reality. My doctors asked me to maintain my glucose levels within an incredibly narrow target range. The margin for error felt impossibly small. I often found myself hesitant to eat, unsure of how much insulin to take with each meal. Even without food, my blood sugar could spike or plummet depending on my activity, stress, or hormones. Every day felt like a delicate balancing act.
During one particularly intense hypoglycemic episode, I had to stop at a store. I gestured to my belly, asking the clerk to hold my bags so I could sit. Too dazed—and too embarrassed—to explain I was a Type 1 Diabetic, I collapsed near the automatic sliding doors, sweating and shaking, sipping a bottle of Coke to stabilize my sugar. Looking back, it was strange that no one checked on me, but in that moment, I felt a small relief: I could recover quietly, without unwanted attention.
Thankfully, I had technology on my side. A Continuous Glucose Monitor (CGM) let me track my blood sugar 24/7 right on my phone. While it gave me crucial insights, it also fueled anxiety. Alarms would beep and buzz whenever my levels strayed outside my target range, day or night. Alongside this, under the guidance of my high-risk obstetric team, I kept a detailed manual log of my sugars and insulin doses, reviewed weekly. My life became a loop of checking my sugar, dosing insulin, and repeating—every single day.
Beyond daily monitoring, I had regular in-person appointments: bi-weekly clinic visits, monthly ultrasounds, and eventually twice-weekly non-stress tests (NSTs). Despite its name, an NST was far from relaxing. Monitors would be placed on my belly to track my baby’s heart rate and responsiveness. One of the final NSTs before delivery brought an unexpected scare. Normally, once unhooked from the monitors, I could go home. This time, however, I was instructed to go straight to the main hospital.
The baby’s activity was below normal, and more tests were necessary. The doctor warned that I might be admitted for delivery. Heart pounding, I drove myself to the hospital, navigating the labor and delivery triage alone. A team of nurses and doctors greeted me, already briefed on the situation, and quickly placed a new set of monitors. Though reassured that this was a precaution, my nerves heightened with every hour that passed. I nibbled on a protein bar to stabilize my sugar, texting my husband in a mix of panic and hope. After three tense hours, the baby’s heart rate normalized, and I was sent home with relief and gratitude.
A week later, my follow-up at the high-risk clinic brought another reality check. Despite well-controlled sugars, my doctors reminded me that all diabetics are typically induced no later than 39 weeks. Suddenly, my meticulously crafted birth plan felt fragile, as I was scheduled for induction in just days.
When Tuesday arrived, I returned to the Labor and Delivery floor. The induction lasted three grueling days, wires and monitors tethered to me like a marionette. COVID restrictions kept my family away, but constant FaceTime calls with loved ones lifted my spirits. In one unforgettable moment, laughing with my niece and nephews during a video call caused my water to break spontaneously—an amusing yet surreal moment as we waited for the doctor to manually rupture it.
Progress remained slow, and a fever raised concern among my doctors, who urged rapid delivery. By 10 a.m., I was told that if I wasn’t fully dilated within an hour, an emergency cesarean was imminent. But when the next check came, I felt a deep pressure and discovered I was fully dilated, narrowly avoiding surgery.
At exactly 11:11 a.m., after only ten minutes of pushing, my daughter Monroe was placed on my chest. Gradually, the wires and IVs were removed, and a tremendous emotional weight lifted. Every struggle—the fear, the anxiety, the constant monitoring—culminated in that blissful, serene moment as I cradled her, softly singing the ABCs.
The journey was challenging, but it made the birth of my son Miles, just 15 months later, feel a little less intimidating.
I know one day I will share with my children the story of their arrival and the battles fought to keep them safe in the womb. For any parent navigating Type 1 Diabetes, here are some ways to start these important conversations:
- Explain diabetes simply and positively. It’s manageable, and those with it can live long, happy lives with thoughtful choices.
- Emphasize that Type 1 Diabetes isn’t anyone’s fault. It’s an autoimmune disease, not caused by diet or activity levels.
- Encourage healthy routines around food and exercise, making it a family affair rather than a solitary burden.
- Reassure them that finger pricks and insulin injections, though intimidating, are tools for health, not fear.
- Highlight that the condition doesn’t need to be hidden—many public figures openly live with Type 1 Diabetes, proving that it can be fully managed while leading an inspiring life.
