The Diaversary that Wasn’t . . . .

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 . . . . .

35 years . . . .

One day this month is my 35th diaversary.  We don’t know my exact diagnosis date, so I always just pick a day somewhere during the middle of December to observe the demise of my pancreas.  Today seems as good a day as any.

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 my 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 bribe hire a D-Mom to come take over for a day.  Truthfully, it isn’t really a joke because I would absolutely love to be able to do that.

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 . . . . . .

Thirty-Four . . . .

Diaversaries strike me as somewhat odd.  Wishing someone a Happy Diaversary can feel awkward because I certainly would never wish diabetes on anyone.  Yet I do want to cheer them on for the hard work they put into each year with diabetes.

Over the years my reaction to my own diaversary seems to vary.  I’ve been reflective, I’ve been light and cheery, I’ve been sad and tired, and I’ve been fed up and feeling guilty.  All of last week I sifted through emotions trying to figure out how I feel this year, and in the end I realized I feel nothing.  Pete and I could have celebrated yesterday, the day I usually choose to symbolize whatever day in December I was actually diagnosed, but it didn’t seem worth the effort.  Yesterday symbolically marked 12,418 days I’ve lived with diabetes.  Just a day like any other in the past 34 years.  Today I make my way through my 12,419th day with diabetes.  Hopefully I have at least 12,000 more ahead of me.  It doesn’t feel like something to celebrate.  It doesn’t feel like something to morn.  I’m not angry or proud or much of anything.  It just is what it is . . . . . .  just another day in my life as I trek onward.

I Shouldn’t Be Here . . . . .

This month marks a pretty big milestone for me.  I was diagnosed with Type 1 in December of 1979, and although we don’t know the exact day I’m pretty sure it was more towards the beginning of the month.  (I spent a week in the hospital, and I don’t remember any Christmas stuff happening so I think it was well before the end of the month).  So I’ve been marking the occasion toward mid-December each year . . . . . and here we are, smack in the middle of December.

This year my diaversary is a biggie.  I was 11 years old when I was diagnosed.  That was 33 years ago.  So I have lived with diabetes for 3/4s of my life.  That feels like a very very long time.

I’ve been struggling with a major case of writer’s block for about a week . . . . not just when trying to write about my diaversary but while trying to write about anything at all.  And I realize I’ve been struggling with the thoughts and emotions surrounding this diaversary for at least a month now.  Because honestly, when I think about having survived diabetes for 3/4s of my life, one phrase keeps echoing through my head . . . .

I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t be here.  I guess that must sound  pretty morbid.  But I can vividly remember laying awake many a night during my late teens counting up how many years I had left to my life.  Ten . . .  maybe fifteen . . . . but surely the last few would be filled with all of those terrible complications that had been drilled into my head over the years.  I had watched my aunt become sicker and sicker and eventually die from diabetes complications, and I thought it was a preview of my own unavoidable fate.  I’d be lucky to make it into my 30s.   I’d never see my 40s.



But here I am.  Forty-four years old and complication free.  Every time I think about being complication free a weird wave of guilt washes over me.  It comes from knowing that for so many years I ignored my diabetes management almost entirely and knowing that many who worked much harder and have lived with diabetes for a much shorter time have developed the complications I’ve somehow managed to avoid.  Why them and why not me?  Genetics, environment, or just dumb luck?  Who knows.

Thirty-three years.  3/4s of my life.  All with Type 1 diabetes.  I’m very grateful for the life I have.  I’m thankful to be here and to be healthy.  I’m lucky to be able to have hope that I may still have another 30 or 40 years to my life-span.  I’m proud to try to be a strong patient voice and to show that diabetes doesn’t have to stop you.  But honestly, lately I’ve been feeling so tired of walking the diabetes road for more than three decades.  I’ve been angry at the time and energy and emotions it demands.  I’ve been fed up with diabetes.  I know this will pass.  I know I’ll get back to a better place emotionally.  I suppose after 33 years, maybe it’s okay to rage just a bit?  Because after all, I shouldn’t be here.  But when all is said and done, I’m so glad that I am.

Thirty-Two

Today is my Diabetes Anniversary (Observed).  Since we don’t know my actual diagnosis day, just the month and year, I pick the 15th as my Diaversary because it’s half way through the month.

So today it is.  Today marks 32 years I’ve lived with diabetes.  And I’m struggling with what to say about that.  I thought about looking at all of the changes I’ve seen.  Urine testing to glucose meters the size of bricks to tiny meters to CGMs to non-invasive measures some day.  One shot a day to MDIs of long and short acting insulin to a pump to the artificial pancreas some day.  Exchange diets and no sugar to carb counting and yes I can eat that.

It’s amazing to see how far things have come.  I know I should be proud and thankful to be here and healthy.  But honestly, I’m struggling with this Diaversary like I never have before.  I’m not happy.  I don’t feel like celebrating.  Pete bought me chocolate truffles and champagne to celebrate, and when he gave them to me I burst out crying. I just feel tired. I feel really sad.  It’s been too long, and there is no end in sight.

I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time this year.  It’s not a milestone like 25 years or 50 years or something.   It doesn’t mark a significant portion of time, like next year when I’ll have lived with diabetes for 75% of my life.  It’s just a random number, thirty-two years.   And deep down I am proud and I do know how lucky I am to be here and healthy.  I can appreciate the really wonderful things, amazing people and great opportunities that have been brought into my life because of diabetes.  But I still feel like I’m struggling a lot with this Diaversary.

I guess it’s just that 32 years seems like a very very long time.  Probably because it is.

True love???

“True love is eternal, infinite, and always like itself.”  ~Honore de Balzac

Diabetes is eternal.  Diabetes is infinite.  And I suppose Diabetes is always like itself . . . because it sure is different from anything else.



In any case, my “true love” and I are celebrating our 31st anniversary one day this month - although in all honestly, I’ve been saying we’ve been together for 31 years since about September or so.  Maybe that’s because it just seems like diabetes has been with me for-freaking-ever!!  In any case, we may have officially passed our big day last week.  Or maybe it is next week.  Or possibly yesterday or tomorrow.  As I’ve said before, the unfortunate fact is that I don’t know exactly when my Diaversary is, but we know I was diagnosed in 1979 and we think it was in December.  I usually pick December 15th to “celebrate” because it is smack in the middle of the month.  This year I suppose I need to push the party back a bit because Pete has an important meeting today and I’d hate to leave my REAL true love out of the celebration.

So tell me, what is a suitable 31st Diaversary gift for my so-called true love to get me?  Perhaps good health after 31 years with my life partner is the best gift I could have asked for!

Happy Diaversary to Me???

Today is my diaversary.  Maybe.  Or perhaps it was yesterday . . .  or maybe it's tomorrow.  It could have been last week or the week before.  The truth is, all we really know is that in December of 1979 I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.  The exact date has been long since forgotten - or maybe blocked out, in the case of my parents.  The hospital has destroyed the records.  My doctor at the time passed away long ago.   My exact diagnosis date has been lost to the past 30 years.


I myself remember very little of that day.  I was 11 years old.  I have a vague and cloudy memory of being wheeled down the hospital hall on a gurney by several doctors whose lab coats fluttered out behind them like the capes of super heroes.  I know I was close to lapsing into a diabetic coma.  I guess I was in ICU for a few days.  I remember later being in a room with a girl who loved to watch Benny Hill - but the English humor was lost on me.  I suppose I learned to give injections on an orange but I actually don't remember doing that.  I do remember seeing the nurses bring a cake to another patient who was celebrating her birthday - and I told them that I couldn't have cake on my birthdays anymore.  (They assured me that I could, but ONLY on my birthday.)


Once home, I remember testing for sugar in my urine with little tablets that fizzed hotly in a test tube.  I remember cloudy insulin that got rolled in my mother's palm before it was mixed with clear insulin in my syringe.  I remember having my exchange list and meal plans secured to the side of the fridge with bright magnets.  I remember doing my injections on my own . . . . until the day I froze up and couldn't do them.  My mom had to inject me for months and months before I built up the courage to do them myself again.  I remember shaving off little slivers of luscious banana cake when no one was looking and eating them quickly before anyone saw.  Sometimes I shaved off too many slivers and my brother would get blamed for eating all of the cake.  I also remember thinking I wouldn't live more than 15 more years.  And that by that time I'd be full of complications.


But here I am, 30 years later.  Give or take a day or two.  I'm very sad that I'll never know when my real Diaversary is.  I so wish I knew my exact diagnosis date.  But in the grand scheme of things, I guess it's not really important.  What is important is how far we've come in 30 years.  Exchanges and R and NPH have been swapped for carb counts and fast acting insulin.  Cake is no longer taboo on every day except my birthday.  The urine test tubes were replaced by finger sticks and my CGM.  I punch buttons on my insulin pump instead of injecting with syringes. And my only complication so far is a small leaky vessel (or two) in my eye.

Happy Diaversary to Me?  Yes.  Yes indeed.