I find myself with conflicted feelings about living 35 years with diabetes. It seems like such a huge chunk of time. And as I like to say, life with diabetes hasn’t been all bad. I’ve met some of my best friends because of diabetes. Real-world friends. On-line friends. And, perhaps the most dear to me, on-line friends who have become real-world friends . . . . or actually more like family. And even my “twin”. I’ve had some great experiences and opportunities that probably wouldn’t ever have come about if not for diabetes. For all of that, I’m thankful.
But honestly, at this moment I feel the good is no match for the bad. There are things about diabetes that make me so angry. And I’m going to vent them here, today, because I’ve decided after 35 years I have that right. Here goes . . .
Diabetes, I hate that on Sunday morning I was sleeping soundly and in the middle of a dream when I awoke to Pete putting his hand on my back. He explained that I wasn’t moving and he couldn’t see me breathing, so “I got scared and had to make sure you still felt warm.”. That moment showed Dead in Bead is a real fear for husband, and I despise that.
Diabetes, I hate that 11 year old me had to watch other kids eat cake that I was denied at birthday parties in the days of exchange diets and crappy insulin. I hate that I still carry scars from that.
Diabetes, I hate that every time someone judges my diabetes management, a small piece of my confidence is chipped away. And I hate that every time someone judges someone else’s diabetes management, a small piece of my heart breaks.
Diabetes, I hate that no matter how badly I need to take a break from you, that isn’t possible. Pete and I have talked about giving me a Diabetes Day Off, but I think he’s so afraid of hurting me he just can’t do it. We joke about wanting to
Diabetes, I hate that as a teen I would lay awake at night counting how many healthy years I thought I had left. I didn’t think I had many, maybe 5 or 10. I was sure I’d be long dead by now. I really thought there was no use trying to take care of myself, because complications and early death were guaranteed. Yes, I’m happy I was wrong about that, but I hate that I felt I had no future.
Diabetes, I hate that you make my loved ones worry about me. I also hate that their worry probably runs far deeper than I can even imagine.
Diabetes, I hate the fear you bring to every eye exam and lab test. I hate feeling like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
In 35 years I’ve built up a lot of diabetes hatred. But, of course, I know diabetes is here and it isn’t going anywhere. So in the end, after I’ve let myself have this good venting session, I’m picking myself up and just continuing on . . . . . .