I guess it takes a while for ideas and realities to set in–I’m learning that through every alarm beep of my cgm (continuous glucose monitor), new scar on my legs, arms and hips. With every highest high and lowest low of my blood sugar, a small piece of my past ebbs away and a newer, finger pricked-filled future replaces the carefree days of cake and fruit and chips and…. well…carbohydrates.
I shouldn’t complain–knowing that I am fortunate enough to have such a controllable disease with amazing doctors and family to support me along the way. But today, a coworker asked me a simple, kind hearted question that sparked the muffled flame inside of me that belongs to the idea that this is temporary. She asked something like, “How did you deal with that? Such a lifelong idea? How did you feel about that?”
Woah. How did I deal with that? I’m really not a big crier when it comes to sad things. I know, you’re probably reading this and thinking, what else could make you cry?! Well, friend, I am an angry crier. It’s like my tear ducts are connected to that burning sensation in your chest when something really makes you angry. Any who, I realized that I have not entirely dealt with the prognosis. I’ve accepted the fact that I have this disease, that my pancreas is not pulling its weight (so to speak) and that I have no other choice than to live with this. I did not even understand her question when she first inquired towards my state of mind after such a life-altering thing as Diabetes. I never thought, oh, I can’t do this. Sure, I say that all the time in a joking matter, but the fact of life is that we don’t really have a valid choice when it comes to surviving. I never cried because I refuse to believe that some genius out there will not find a cure sometime in the next 60 years. I refuse to entertain the idea that out of the 7 billion people on earth, millions of dollars invested in research and technology, and minds, out of all of these positive factors, one singular great positive cannot be reached. I know that someday someone will find a cure. Just like someone found a vaccine for polio, the mumps, and every other diseases from time passed. I do not want to pass this gene on to any children I might have in the (fairly distant) future. I do not wish this on my worst enemy.
As I reach the 1 year anniversary of being diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, the rose colored glasses come off, and a sense of acceptance hits me with the pang as deep as seeing a beautiful cupcake that I cannot have, or the realization that gone are the days of carefree, spontaneity.
Despite my feelings of loss (RIP pancreas) for the old days, I still find myself inherently optimistic. I am not naive enough to think that I will be cured in the next 5 years, but I have hope that someday soon I won’t have to pull my shirtsleeve down over my pump so people won’t ask questions, or stare at my already formed scars on my legs and hips from my helpful, occasionally painful, and always elusive pumps.
So, I guess, it really isn’t all apples and icing, but maybe carrots and hummus isn’t too bad either?
Stay tuned for a recap on my adventures in Scotland and the last few weeks in London.
Le Sigh, I love it here, even if diabetes remains a foreign technological concept to airport security (that’s a rant for a different day).
Stay beautiful and classy, and yourself!