James Norton is right: my type 1 diabetes is a superpower

The autoimmune disease has taught me resilience and the importance of self-care

I did not expect to see James Norton, star of Grantchester and rumoured James Bond number eight, describe his type 1 diabetes as a superpower.
“It’s given me extraordinary empathy,” the actor said in an interview this week. “And that empathy extends to everyone — epileptics, coeliacs, diabetics — anyone who has something that makes them a little bit different. It’s a lovely, empowering thing.”
At first glance, type 1 diabetes is anything but lovely. For many, it’s a damning diagnosis: and autoimmune disease that disables the body’s ability to turn food into energy and demands that those affected spend their days testing blood glucose levels and injecting insulin. With no cause or cure to speak of.
When I was diagnosed, aged seven, I couldn’t imagine anything worse. It took me years to come to terms with the disease – and longer still to stop hiding away in toilets or quiet corners every time I needed to self-administer my daily doses. 
But now, as a 29-year-old woman who has lived with type 1 for over two decades, I’ve learned to see my condition in a different light. Like Norton, I know my diabetes is a superpower (even if I wouldn’t go as far as to call the effects ‘lovely’). Here’s why…
Though the care and treatment of type 1 diabetes has changed many times in the 22 years I’ve been diabetic, the idea that I should know everything possible about nutrition and health has always been of the utmost importance.
From the day I was diagnosed I was put into short courses to help me master the science and symbiosis of sugar, carbs, exercise and the varying doses of insulin I would have to inject to maintain the life-saving balancing act between them.
I am now a walking encyclopaedia of nutrition. And it’s no surprise. If you spent every day for over two decades calculating the carbohydrates, fibre, protein and fat of everything that passes your lips, you would be too.
Society does not teach us to see food as fuel, but type 1 diabetes does. Constant calculations and monitoring not only reiterates the importance of conscious nutrition but allows you to understand your body and the food industry’s nuances. For example, I know that I won’t need half as much insulin for a few slices of sourdough pizza as I would for a seemingly protein-based dish at my local Chinese restaurant (who, based on blood sugar spikes, seem to make their sauces primarily of sugar).
When I was diagnosed I was handed vials of insulin and needles with a disclaimer that I’d be fighting to stay alive every day for the rest of my life.
While this is true in one sense, the worst case scenario of untreated or poorly treated diabetes (death) is commonly preceded by complications like heart disease, stroke, nerve damage, kidney failure and miscarriage – to name but a few.
Because of this, type 1 diabetes not only taught me that I should fight against the odds, but how to fight against the odds. That no matter how daunting a diagnosis (or general situation), hope and drive tends to prevail.
There are few superpowers more important, to me, than learning how to find strength where weakness is presumed.
And not just in a physical sense. Though type 1 diabetes requires daily medical care, it doesn’t take long for diabetics to realise how connected medical care is to self-care.
We prepare for what we might need before we need it (while renowned for always having some ‘good’ sweets at hand to treat low blood sugar and/or hungry friends). We allow ourselves to learn from and forgive ourselves for mistakes (forgotten shots, test strips and needles make sure of it). We approach stress proactively (knowing it wreaks havoc on blood sugar levels).
For me, it is not simply about platitudes of self-care but really understanding and owning my personal needs. Some people use insulin pumps (a cyborg-creating device which sits on the skin, with an attached needle, to deliver non-stop insulin into the body) – but I’ve always preferred to inject manually. I find the pumps sartorially restrictive and – perhaps conceitedly – an indicator of illness.
I make no apologies for refusing insulin pumps when doctors push them on me. The management of my disease is something I own – and I know I do it well. 
Invisible illnesses prevail far beyond the four million diabetics in the UK. In fact, some of the most dangerous diseases show no physical signs: epilepsy, Alzheimer’s, most cancers, heart disease and more.
For any type 1 diabetic who has been mistaken for a drunk while trying to tap their debit card onto a bottle of Lucozade to pay for said bottle (speaking from personal low blood sugar experience), empathy comes easily.
Like other ‘hidden’ afflictions, type 1 diabetes can leave affected parties feeling abnormal, helpless, anxious and vulnerable at the drop of a hat. The superpower is knowing that, at the very least, no-one feeling that way is alone.
Cumulatively, I expect I’ve spent weeks of my life explaining type 1 diabetes to people who have built a shoddy understanding of the condition through TV and film portrayals.
At any moment, ‘knowledge’ picked up from years of misinformed TV and film plots could force me to explain why I’m not fat (type 2 diabetes is commonly linked to poor diet and obesity), why I can eat cake (if I know and take the units of insulin required, it has no affect on my diabetes), and why trying to force me to use my insulin pen when I feel faint is life-threatening (fainting, dizziness and nausea are all symptoms of low blood sugar, which needs to be treated with glucose and carbs, not worsened or turned fatal with insulin).
I’ve learned to expect little more than misinformation (a superpower in itself) and, rather than losing my patience, now get as excited to challenge the status quo as I do to educate myself and others.
All things considered, I’d take type 1 diabetes over a spidey sense any day.