#Diabetethis: Part 2

PC: Cara Difabio  Click on the photo to check out her website.

PC: Cara Difabio
Click on the photo to check out her website.

Here it is guys…. the moment you’ve all been waiting for… Part 2 and the final installment of Diabetethis. Well, tbh, I might continue this diatribe because it’s fun and therapeutic. So, this might not actually be the last installment, but just the second installment. I digress. I hope you enjoy this part, and again hope that no one party is affected by any of my words below.

When I turned 20, after my initial diagnosis, I did not get a birthday cake. I got smiles tinged with sympathy and pity. I’ve never been one to enjoy people’s pity. I prefer to make my bed and lay in it, so to speak. But this, this disease that hit me at such a late age compared to my T1D (Type 1 Diabetic) counterparts, this thing that has come to be such a large and overwhelming part of my life, changed me. I am no longer the giggling girl with no care in the world (not that I ever was, but it’s nice to see some options!). Now I am constantly thinking of the consequences of what I eat, drink and even do physically. I can no longer go for a long walk when I feel like it, I have to eat an hour before and hope my blood sugar doesn’t get too low.

Shit, that reminds me. Dang it. UGH. Okay so after walking that mile to class and giving myself insulin for that high blood sugar from an hour ago my blood sugar is now 100, dropping like it’s hotter than Snoop diggity-dawg. Great. Now I look like an idiot eating my squeezable applesauce.

Oh wait, I don’t care.

Yeah, that’s right group of tall man-child basketball players walking by staring at my snack of choice. What? You’ve never seen a 21-year-old woman eating squeezable applesauce on the go? Yeah, look away, that’s right. Mhm. Okay. Good.

I sit down in a quiet area of the GSU, close my eyes and hope that this feeling like the world is going to open under my feet will go away soon. Come on applesauce, do your magic. I hear those two familiar, loud, obnoxiously terrifying beeps coming from my glucose monitor, telling me that my blood sugar is low and basically for me to get my shit together.

I get it. I am trying here, work with me pancreas. I know you’re kind of done and all, but maybe you could do me a solid and just make my life a tad easier?

I open my eyes to see the girl across from me eating what can only be described as a plate of diabetes. We’re talking curly fries, fried chicken and a large milkshake. Jesus, I can feel my pancreas laughing at me from within. Life is so unfair. I can’t stop staring. I want that milkshake. I want that meal. I want that carefree life that, alright, let’s admit it, could potentially lead to the other less dangerous, more common cousin of T1D, type 2. Type 2 sucks, because it’s somewhat preventable and reversible. So if you get type 2, you know it’s partially….maybe….your fault. With type 1 at least I know that my pancreas quit on me, taking the guilt of this major health problem out of my hands. I let out a small laugh, towards the girl’s ironic food choice, the situation, and who knows, maybe even the big guy upstairs. Thank you Lord for giving me a sense of humor and irony.

All I seem to think about these days is this disease. Comparatively, it’s not even that bad. But the real question is: when will it become such an integral part of my life that I won’t have to think about it anymore? At what point will I be able to sit down for a meal and not worry. I worry so damn much. I am tired of worrying, but at the same time, it’s the worry that keeps me sane. I need the worry to let me know that there was a before. It gives me hope that there might be an after. I hope for that cure.

Woah ok where did the time go? Time to get started on my Comparative European Politics homework. Oh, yay, glad that this week’s reading only consists of 150 pages, as opposed to last week’s 180. Things are looking up.

I sigh, I go get a salad from loose leafs and am actually content with my spinach, health-filled meal. Yeah, I can be healthy. I don’t even want a milkshake anymore. Keep telling yourself that, Em. You got this. One meal at a time.

Hope you enjoyed this part 🙂

Stay beautiful and warm peeps!



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s