#DBlogWeek Wildcard

Today I decided to pick a wildcard topic for #DBlogWeek. The topic is: Tell a story of a diabetic equipment or accessory, from it’s point of view. (Yeh, that wasn’t worded so well. But its late and my phone can’t copy the prompt from the source…)


I’ve never met so many people in one day. I usually stay hidden and quiet, tucked away in a pocket or band or dress. It’s not that I’m shy; I just don’t really know how to interact with people. Will they accept me? Question me? Play with me? Intead of wondering, I usually just pretend to be invisable. Its much easier that way.
But today was different. Today I met 2 medtronics. They have their own dialect and were beeping nonstop, but we chatted. We spoke about meters and hypos and cheesecake. We spoke for about an hour, and then I had to leave and carry on with my day. Not that I have much of a day anyway… I stay inside for the most part, and get pressed through layers of clothing. My buttons have indentations from finger nails being forced too strongly into the rubber.
I’m not sure why my Person doesn’t do it the easy way; it would make much more sense to just use me in public. But I sort of just let her do her thing. She has these theories in her head that I don’t agree with. I think that she’s worried about her friends seeing me; she thinks that they will see her differently. I’ve heard her say otherwise, but I don’t fully believe her. After all, we’ve been together for about a year and a half now. Her friends can all see that she’s the same girl as before we met. She thinks they might look differently; she doesn’t realize they don’t become as emotional and disturbed as she thinks they do. They’ll most likely not ever bring me up in converstaion. I think she sometimes over analyzes things too much…
I also think she doesn’t want the empathetic faces People put on when they see me. She feels that they will never understand, and by looking at me all they can do is feel bad. She never liked people feeling bad for her, after all, she never likes when people do anything for her. She likes being independant. But in my opinion, she’s totally missing the point.
Her friends and family love her, and want to care.
I hear them talking sometimes, long after my Person is asleep. They discuss how closed and mysterious she is, and they wish they knew her better. She doesn’t realize that they want to know. They want to hear about they hypos and the stress and the difficulties, just as she wants to hear about theirs.
But I guess that’s her weakness. It takes courage to ask for help. It takes courage to admit that sometimes the world doesn’t fit on your shoulders alone and that there are times when it’s ok to share the burden.
The other night she was filling my cartridge. My Person is very emotional by nature, yet she doesn’t cry about diabetes. She accepts this as some blessing from Gd, and doesn’t imagine a different life. But as the drops of insulin sprayed across my screen, I felt a deep, heavy breath fall onto my battery cap. She was overwhelmed. She had just finished a conversation with her cousin that left her thinking. It was time to reach out to others. Time to make that group that they’ve been talking about, and time to inform a wider circle of friends and family about the situation, because holding it all in isn’t strength.
Me and my Person are very close. I hear her every conversation, (although sometimes they are muffled by the thick cotton sweater pockets,) feel her every pulse, and experience her every move. She’s much older than I am, but I wish I could tell her a thing or two. I wish I could tell her how good it felt today to speak to a peer. To be spoken about in public. And when she introduced me to her friend yesterday, I wanted to sing. Her friend was just as excited to see me as I was to see her. Her friend doesn’t look at her any differently; her friend just realizes that there’s an added dimension to my Person’s life, called diabetes. And even though her friend doesn’t understand a single D-term, she’ll try, because diabetes isn’t her fault. Its not a choice she made or an object she bought. Its a blessing that was given to her as a birthday present from Heaven.
I work every day to keep my Person healthy. She works every day together with me. But I think its time to recruit some coworkers, because sometimes the world doesn’t fit on your shoulders alone.
And that’s completely fine.


#DBlogWeek Day 4. (2 for me…)

Today’s topic: Mantras and More
What is your mantra? What lifts you up when you’re feeling depressed and alone and fed up of spotted finger tips?

This may sound weird, but I think the first thing I ever said about my diabetes is that “it is what it is”. While sitting in the hospital with my mother at my side, those were the words I chose to describe how I felt. That was my first opinion, and has been my attitude ever since. While maybe not an inspirational mantra for day to day management, those words are my view on life in general.
Getting worked up results in nothing but stress. So when things are crazy, sometimes you just gotta take a step back and remember: you can’t control everything. I have diabetes, and there’s nothing I can do that will make it go away. Not that I’m apathetic; I’m actually very obsessed with my diabetes control. However, I know that there’s only so many calculations and planning that are able to be done. The rest is left to Gd. I may look at my meter and see an unexpected monster of a number, but “it is what it is”. Every blood sugar reading is just one small part of the average. Every low will ultimately pass, and every high will as well.
Some days go over better than others, but when I know that I’m doing my best at the moment, then there’s no reason to get annoyed. Some things, like diabetes, don’t change. It is what it is.

#DBlogWeek Day 3 (Well Day 1 for me…)

I was scouting around the DOC yesterday when I chanced upon the following hashtag: #DBlogWeek. This is the 5th annual diabetes blog week, and I decided to follow the link to sign up. This is an amazing initiative, and I encourage everyone to join. Share your thoughts, and expand and unite the diabetes community. We’re all living with this every single day; we may as well live it together. 🙂
Every day has a set topic, but being that I am a few days behind anyway, I think I will just start from yesterday’s: Diabetes Poetry. I had one drafted from a while ago, and another tucked into a notebook that I was using for SAT prep. Although I wanted to create something new for today, I didn’t get a chance. I have 13 minutes until it’s officially Thursday, so I think I’ll go with notebook-poem. It’s a bit of a spoken word, so it sounds better when read out loud. I wrote it during a competition with Cousin, (more about that in previous posts,) and I was trying really hard to beat him. Sometimes, trying means trying too hard.

Trying Too Hard

If the bird flying above my head flapped his wings too hard,
they may just fall off.
Actually, that’s probably a lie, but who knows? I doubt he ever thought to try.

If the bubbles in my seltzer tried too hard to leave the bottle,
The glas might just explode.
Who knows?

Blades of grass don’t hope to become pine trees and tadpoles don’t try to become toads.
The blades of grass between my toes just want to stay green.
They just work to keep dancing to the rhythm of the wind that breezes through them.
They know (or maybe don’t) that if they tried to become pine trees,
It would be futile; they’d be trying for nothing and trying too hard.

Tadpoles, however, aspire to be toads.
They swim in the lake watching the grownups they wish to become.
But TRYING won’t help-they’ll grow up when they’re meant to.

Trying to please is trying too much.
Those who understand all the guesswork don’t need your excuses
And those who don’t understand never will.

Those who question the juicebox and test strips and blood streaks
won’t understand when you tell them you’re shaking and fine.

All the words in your mouth won’t do justice to explain what exists above the limitations of letters.
All that trying will accomplish nothing but defeat
And the knowledge that perfection doesn’t exist in this world.

Trying to win this means trying too hard.
I’m expecting perfection, yet receiving 200s.
I’m expecting perfection, yet forgetting it’s fake.

120 may be ideal, but means nightmares at bedtime.
Every minute is made up of 60 chances to change.
To change, to guess, to fix, to learn.

There’s a difference between doing my best and trying.
My best is all I can do to win;
Trying means hoping, but not really working.
So it’s time to just work and quit trying to win.

After all, we’re all working way too hard to put ourselves down for what looks less than perfect.

Me, the diabetic

This post has been pushed off numerous times for one very simple reason: time. In order to write a proper post expressing my feelings at this point in my life, I needed a night with little homework, (no need to discuss the book I just remembered that I should be reading) some energy, and working internet.
This blog is entirely about my dysfunctional pancreas. I used to think of that as some weird-shaped organ somewhere around my stomach that had no connection to anything else as long as I injected my leg with a hormone called insulin. I had classes while in the hospital, I read plenty of articles, and I had good control. Not once did I cry or grieve over the change in my life’s path. But that is before I had an epiphany one day while pricking. This disease is forever. I believe there’s a cure out there somewhere, but I don’t believe it will be available in the near future. And from my experiences until today, I haven’t felt the need for it to be found. I don’t pray for the day the disease will disappear; I pray for the day it will all be under control. Even when the cure will come out, I’ll be worried that it’s a mistake. The evil that you know is better than the evil that you don’t. So I just pray for control. For stability. For assurance that 6 units will bring me down from a 400 to a 100. Every. Single. Time.
I was totally wrong when I thought that my pancreas was a loner amongst the body. And I thought that hypos were pathetic excuses for mistakes. Until I realized. Just as hormones are responsible for puberty, voice changes, mood swings, acne, so can hormones be responsible for blurry vision and the feeling of getmeallthesugarinthehousebeforeicounttoeight.

I think about diabetes for at least 15 hours a day. If 7 hours are spent sleeping, that gives me approximately 2 hours of free, uninterrupted thoughts. The history on my phone consists of about 11 diabetes blog. When we went around the dinner table this afternoon and everyone said their highs and lows of the day, I almost shouted 267 and 46.
My parents used to ask me how much time my diabetes takes up; I would respond “about 10 minutes total.” I guess that’s true if you’re referring to the time it takes to inject 5 syringes. But that’s way not true if you’re referring to the actual disease. This is my life. This is my life. This. Is. My. Life. So I need to learn to embrace it. Like a friend. I accepted it from the beginning, but I didn’t embrace it . I didn’t treat diabetes as my right hand, as something that as far into the future as my human eye can see, will consume every detail of my day. Ignoring, as I’ve seen and read, doesn’t help. It may cause temporary relief, but in truth just causes complications. I’m better off not even going there. The only option is to be brutally honest with myself. To say it’s not a big deal is a lie. Its probably the biggest deal of my life at the moment. The sooner I realize that, the sooner I can learn to really live the diabetic life. Its not easy, because there are so many variable in every situation. But its not me+diabetes. Its me, the diabetic. If it means I need to say those words 50 times till they put me to sleep, so be it. Me, the diabetic. The diabetic, the diabetic. The diabtic. The…