Monday, December 21, 2015
My diaversary (or the anniversary of my diabetes diagnosis) falls some time in December. My hospital records are long gone and we’ve forgotten exactly which day I was rushed in and diagnosed, so I usually pick the middle of the month, December 15th, to mark the occasion.
This year makes 36 years I’ve lived with diabetes. Pete and I usually celebrate. We aren’t celebrating the fact that I have diabetes. After all, although I firmly believe “life with diabetes isn’t all bad”, I most certainly would rather not have to live with this (or any) chronic illness. But we still celebrate, to acknowledge how far I’ve come, how far treatments have come, how much work we put into keeping me healthy, and that I’m still here and (mostly) kicking diabetes’ butt.
So I had last Tuesday all planned out. First I’d blog about my diaversary, which I do every year. Then I’d head out of finish my Christmas shopping and stop at Crumbs for celebratory cupcakes. And that evening, Pete wanted to take me out for a nice dinner.
None of that happened. I woke up Tuesday feeling depressed by the weight of 36 years. I was thankful to still be alive and healthy, but I hated everything about living with diabetes. I didn’t have it in me to celebrate. I didn’t even have it in me to leave the house. I vented to a group of trusted friends in a private Facebook group (which helped a lot, so thank you!!). And then I climbed back into bed to watch T.V. and snuggle K.C. (who was an overjoyed kitten loving the extra attention).
It kind of seems stupid and whiney now. I don’t quite know what my problem was. But on the other hand, diabetes can be so demanding and if I needed a day to wallow I guess that’s okay. By Friday I was ready to buy those cupcakes, but alas our Crumbs is closed again, apparently for good this time. Oh well. Pete wanted to reschedule our fancy dinner for a day that I’m feeling up for it, so we have plans to go tomorrow. And who knows, maybe tomorrow is actually the day of my 36th diaversary. But whether it is or isn’t, I want the dinner to be about Pete and I spending a nice evening together and not about 36 years of this chronic illness.
This year, I guess I’m just not into my diaversary. I just need the diaversary that wasn’t . . . . .