In spring 2011, my world fell completely apart within just eight weeks. Twice I had to fear for the lives of my daughters.
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First my elder daughter was fighting a severe pneumonia, then my second daughter barely survived her birth. Shortly afterwards she stopped breathing and suffered a severe brain haemorrhage. No one could tell me whether she would survive.
That fear of losing what you love most in the world changes you forever.
Almost two years later I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. I fought my way through everyday life – sometimes angry, sometimes rebellious, sometimes resigned.
But the real turning point came in 2016 with my separation. The children’s contact with their father broke off abruptly, and suddenly I alone was responsible for two little girls (aged 4 and 7).
There was no one left in the house who could help me in an emergency, during a severe hypoglycaemia (low blood sugar). Should I really show them how to give me the emergency injection if I lost consciousness?
There they sat – two little souls whose world had just been turned upside down, and I was their only anchor. But to burden them with the fear that they might lose me, too?
No. I knew all too well what that indescribable fear feels like. My children had already lost enough. I didn’t want to add the fear of losing their mum as well.
From that moment on, I could no longer rebel against my diabetes. I could no longer ignore it – I had to stay one step ahead of it. Become my own expert, understand my body and find ways to keep my life as safely under control as possible.
Years later, this silent promise to my daughters and the wish for safety gave rise to the Diabakus project.