“What does not eliminate us strengthens us.” ~Friedrich Nietzsche
At twenty-five weeks into my pregnancy, I received a type 1 diabetes diagnosis. I proceeded with work and prepared for a serene homebirth.
While on my way to an event at work, I found myself needing to pause frequently, struggling to catch my breath. Climbing stairs became impossible without stops. Something felt wrong.
I observed weight loss, particularly noticeable in my face. My cheeks were hollow, resembling more of a “heroin chic” look than the radiant pregnancy glow I had envisioned.
Up until that moment, my pregnancy had been smooth. I was eating healthily, taking walks, reading Ina May’s books, visualizing a birth lit by candles at home.
When my husband remarked, “You look like death,” my aspirations came crashing down. It was time to consult a physician.
The Moment Everything Shifted
At the clinic, I thought it might be a minor issue. After a urine test, I found myself quickly in an ambulance with sirens blaring, en route to the hospital.
In the emergency department, the term “diabetes” was brought into the conversation. A doctor explained that my blood sugar levels were alarmingly high, just hours away from a coma.
It turned out to be a serious autoimmune disorder, rather than gestational diabetes, and it was frightening.
I spent a week in the hospital learning to control insulin, monitor blood sugar, count carbohydrates, all while being informed that my pregnancy was deemed “high risk.”
When I mentioned my desire for a homebirth, a midwife chuckled.
I wept for two weeks, mourning my former life each night in solitude.
The Burden of Numbers
Experiencing pregnancy with type 1 diabetes turned it into a process governed by data.
Every measurement was tracked—sugar levels, insulin dosage, growth scans. I was anxious about making errors, feeling like my body had become a scientific experiment, as if I were betraying my baby.
Despite the circumstances, the demand for perfection remained unyielding.
The Turning Point: Letting Go, Not Controlling
Following a challenging appointment, I broke down in my car, coming to the realization that I didn’t want to fight anymore. I yearned to intentionally surrender.
I chose midwives who had faith in my body, helped manage my blood sugars, and engaged in hypnobirthing, which I found to be a source of tranquility.
I listened to calming tracks, envisioned love surrounding my baby, and recited affirmations that I eventually came to accept:
“I am sufficient.”
“My baby and I are collaborating.”
“I can cope with this moment.”
Serenity Amid the Turbulence
Surrender meant connecting inward, rather than relinquishing hope.