Hello, howdy, long time no talk. Since we last spoke (or since you’ve last read) I turned 22, had quite a few up and downs in my blood sugar and realized I should probably start looking for a job for after graduation. Because as I keep saying in these posts (probably more in an effort to convince myself than to remind you) graduation is coming up. But, like, it’s really happening.
Last week we had a “100 days until graduation party” (despite the fact that it was actually 87 days until graduation, el oh el- I’m assuming it had something to do more with nailing down the venue and less with Boston University’s inability to count) and it really hit me. And I don’t mean the frat bros spilling beer everywhere I turned, but hit me in more of a metaphorical, where did the time go, sense.
Anyways, I digress on the whole graduation front [for now].
After a birthday celebration with some of my friends Friday night, I learned first hand how much alcohol affects blood sugar the next day. Okay, so obviously I’ve already experienced the post-drinking lows, but nothing to this magnitude.
After waking up with a relatively low number, and a relatively horrible hangover, I spent the day in bed until I ventured out to meet a friend, and afterwards walked along the Esplanade. For all of you non-Bostonians, the Esplanade wraps around the Charles River and is gorgeous. Anyways, Saturday’s temperature rose to a boiling 55 degrees in Boston, in mid/late February. I find this disturbing, but that’s a post for another time.
I walked entirely too much in the beautiful warm(ish) winter air, and experienced a low. This time, however, my Continuous Glucose Monitor (CGM) was/is a month expired (unbeknownst to me) and therefore extremely less accurate in its readings. After figuring this out, and chugging a bottle of orange juice like it was my job, I had to make a stop at my friend’s apartment before proceeding the next block to mine. What is life?
This May marks both graduation and the two year anniversary of my Type 1 diagnosis.
If you had asked me five years ago if I thought type 1 diabetes was in my future, I would have turned an even paler shade of white, let out a nervous giggle, and said hell no.
I never would have thought that this is where I’d be at 22, chugging orange juice and resting after a long walk, probably looking worse for wear and closer to 82 than my young age.
My friends often ask me how I do it. I know i’ve said this a few times, but that question always makes me think. Because to me, life isn’t about “doing it,” but more about the journey. I need to find who I am while I’m still young, before I find myself looking a mirror in 30 years wondering where the time went, and when I lost myself along the way.
Do I want to be known for my disease? As the diabetic girl? No. But for better or worse, and let’s be honest, it’s a disease so it’s mostly been for worse, this is a part of me now. But here I am, calloused fingers and all, and I think I’m finally becoming okay with it.