Someone’s phone is vibrating.
But it is abnormally loud, like someone put the vibration on a high intensity mode.
Then, three beeps, which sound similar to an 18-wheeler backing up.
Turner Medlicott pulls out a little black box from his pocket, but it’s not a phone. His blood sugar is low.
That is a notification from his glucose meter, a device which helps him keep track of his blood sugar levels because he is a Type 1 diabetic. His glucose meter also tells him how much insulin he needs to inject into his body to account for any food or drink he has just ingested.
But his glucose meter has never told him how to adjust to a life with a chronic illness. It never told his parents how they were supposed to teach a kid who couldn’t even handle multiplication yet, how to handle a daily issue that consistently put him on the fringe between life and death. It only takes one miscue for everything to fall apart. But, his glucose meter did help teach him how to manage his life one day at a time, one meal at a time, one “beep, beep, beep” at a time.
The whole point of potty training a child is to avoid them wetting the bed when they get into elementary school and beyond. So, when Lucrece Medlicott got a call from a mother of one of Turner’s friends early in the morning, telling her that her son had wet the bed three full times that night without being given anything to drink, she knew something wasn’t right.
The signs had been there.
On New Years Eve of 2004, Lucrece had to take Turner back to their home in Wilmington, North Carolina because he had thrown a temper tantrum during a playdate with one of his friends in a park.
The Medlicott had just moved from Raleigh to Wilmington earlier in the year, and recently the move really seemed to be affecting Turner. He had tantrums a lot more. Had unreasonable requests.
On this New Years Eve, it was water. And he wouldn’t play until he was given water. He was given a juice box. It wasn’t enough. He needed more. So they drove home to get some.
When they got home, Lucrece gave him a big glass of water, scolding him. “You better drink it all since you were too thirsty to play with your friend.”
Turner drank it all.
“Drink another.”
He drank another.
“Do you want another?”
He did. And finished that glass too.
Lucrece called the doctor’s office, inquiring if they could see her son, knowing that was not normal. They were about to close for the day, but she could arrive in 2 days since all of the doctors were off for Christmas break.
They showed up. Turner had Type 1 Diabetes.
Lucrece and Ja, her husband, were confused as to why Turner had diabetes. They fed him a fairly normal diet. Then they learned it is a chronic illness. It is just something that had happened. There is nothing they could do to change that.
Turner couldn’t change it either, but he was too concentrated on the needle that looked as big as his arm getting ready to be stuck into his shoulder.
He needed injections of insulin to combat his blood sugar level of 675. A healthy balance lands anywhere from 120-150.
He was in the hospital for a week.
Then the real battle began. His parents had to figure out how to take care of a 5 year old kid with an unpredictable chronic illness with limited technology to make it easier.
Everyday before a meal, checking carb levels.
Every day after a meal, injections of insulin.
Then came the pump. A little mobile device that had an insulin port, a little reader to help check one’s blood sugar, a small prick to draw blood, and most importantly, but worst of all, a more permanent solution to injecting insulin. A little port that has a needle on one end to inject insulin, a plastic tube attached to that needle which connects to the pump.
The site on the body where the needle connected had to be changed every 3 days early on. With parents that didn’t necessarily know what they were doing just yet, it was an often painful experience for the elementary school level Turner. Sometimes so much so, that his father, Ja Medlicott, would sit in the bathroom with him and his mother while they made the site change and Ja would grab Turner’s pain, ball it up imaginarily in his hands, and then throw it out of the door as to get rid of it.
But he eventually got past the site changes.
Then technology changed again and that helped. But it didn’t help Turner cope with the social aspect of dealing with Diabetes.
Except Turner never really dealt with any social issues because he was determined to be just like everyone else.
He wanted to play soccer, and he was pretty good at it. He wanted to be a Boy Scout.
That didn’t end up being as much fun.
Then he wanted to play an instrument and be in his high school band.
He did that.
Then he played in college.
Turner had Type 1 Diabetes. So, what?
And by college Turner had learned how to handle diabetes by himself. Through a lot of work by his parents, and an understanding of how to manage himself, Turner was able to attend his dream school, UNC Chapel Hill.
He had gone his whole life trying to not let diabetes define him as a person. But, without him even realizing it, Diabetes had shaped him.
He wants to help people like him who are in the hospital and have just been diagnosed with chronic illnesses or chronic injuries. He wants to show people there is a way out of misery, and a way to make light of their situation.
He has had a lot of help along the way with people who have helped him become the person he is, despite Diabetes.
And yet, diabetes is one of the reasons why he wants to help people. It is why he is a kind soul. It is why he is understanding of others. It is why, as his mom says, he has an innate ability to have insight into what other people are feeling beyond face value.
But it doesn’t define him. He is who he is because that is who he chooses to be.
Type 1 Diabetes. So, what?
