According to the release, “We are seeking video entries that tell about the impact diabetes has on our lives through one of the five senses: sight, hearing, taste, touch and smell. Diabetes affects our lives in ways we may not always realize. We smell insulin, savor glucose tablets, feel the poke of our lancing devices, react to our doctor’s words and see the life ahead of us.”
They’re looking for video submissions, and there are some really cool prizes on tap for winners. Not to mention the emotional boost that creativity like this can provide – which, in my mind, is huge in helping us deal with diabetes. For details on how, and what, and when, to submit, check out this entry on TuDiabetes. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*
Last night I had a chance to sit with some parents here in Norwalk and talk about our collective experiences with diabetes. These parents were taking care of children with diabetes, ranging from the newly diagnosed three year old to the newly diagnosed 13 year old, and everywhere in between. High school angst, the issues of disclosure, the pursuit of “perfection,” and all those other issues that parents of kids with diabetes, and the kids themselves, are dealing with.
“I was invited here to talk about how to raise a child with diabetes without losing your mind. But I’m not really qualified to talk about that sort of thing, to be honest. I’m not the parent of a diabetic child. I am the diabetic child.”
The parents at this group were wonderful, all actively engaged in their child’s health, just trying to make sense of what diabetes doles out every day. We were a small group – about 12 of us in total – so the conversation flowed pretty smoothly and comfortably. And we hit upon some very intimate issues.
Like menstrual cycles and their impact on blood sugars. (Remind me again why I’m talking about puberty and my female hormones with strangers?) Or the dodgy things I did as a kid to lash out at my diabetes or my parents or at life in general. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*
If you just snapped a quick picture, you wouldn’t see it. Not unless you were looking for the small signs, like my insulin pump. Or my spotted fingertips.
Type 1 diabetes isn’t something you can see on me. It’s not an illness that, at this point in my life, comes with any constant external symptoms. I am fortunate enough to not use a wheelchair or need vision assistance devices. You can’t see my disease, even though it’s something I manage every day.
I seem “normal.” (Stop laughing. Let me use the word normal for the sake of this blog post, at the very least!) I seem like your average 30 year old professional woman (again, stop laughing), recently married, inspired to achieve, and happy.
And I am happy.
But my good health is not without great effort.
Type 1 diabetes is a chronic illness, and one that has required daily maintenance and effort from me, and from my caregivers, for the last 23 years. Every morning starts with my meter. Every meal I’ve eaten in the last two plus decades has been preceeded by a blood sugar check and an insulin dose. And every night has my finger pricked by a lancet before my head hits the pillow.
This isn’t a pity party. Not by a long shot. My life is healthy and I have a very fulfiling existance, even if days are bookended by diabetes and even if I’m now wearing medical devices 24 hours a day, every single day. And back when I was a fresh-faced litttle kiddo, people seemed to want to cure my disease because they didn’t like the idea of a small child dealing with this disease.
Kids are fun to cure. They’re cute. And their futures seem worth investing in.
What confuses me is how quickly people forget. Type 1 diabetes became a part of my life a long time ago, and I don’t remember even a snippet of “the before.” But even though I’ve lived very well with this disease and kept it from defining me in any way, it’s still here. And it’s still something I deal with every day, regardless of how well or poorly controlled. But just because I’m no longer a little kid with the bright, shining future, am I any less diabetic? Any less deserving of that cure? Just because you can’t see my disease, and because I seem to have it under physical and emotional control, does not mean it’s past the point of deserving a cure.
Here is a vlog post that I did back in February about vlogging during a low blood sugar and how “diabetes can look so normal yet feel so rotten.” It’s a video that shows how invisible diabetes can be, but how visible it feels from the perspective of those who live with it:
Children with diabetes grow up to be adults with diabetes. And all the while, we’re still ready for progress. And for hope. And for a cure.
I started my mission while we were on vacation in Barcelona, because between the time change and our eating schedule and the fact that sleep was a hot commodity, it was a good time to let go of the caffeine addiction. No real withdrawal, no extreme headaches, and no unrighteously sassy moments where I can’t function “WITHOUT MY CUP OF COFFEE DAMNIT!”
But now, I have a new pal. Someone who can still be part of the collection of stupid iPhotos that the editorial team snaps every few days. (These photos are known as the Friday Face-Off, where we take one photo to emulate, like this one (my version) or this one, and we all recreate it ourselves, then paste them together as a college. My favorite so far was when we all tried to look like my chubby-cheeked niece. But I’ve once again digressed. Ignore me.)
My new pal is decaf, and I have embraced the change. The coffee shop downstairs makes a mean iced decaf coffee, and just a short walk away from my office is a fabulous graham cracker flavored coffee that comes in delicious decaf. I am finally weaned off the caffeine, but I still get to enjoy the taste and the “coffee runs” that are part of the social routine in my office.
It’s nice to feel free.
It’s also nice to not drink so much coffee that my fingertips actually jitter to the point where I can’t type a sentence without mangling most of the words.
FutureBaby, I hope you appreciate this. Because it was HAAARD. But I know it was worth it.
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*
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