Thank you everyone for all your gracious comments and support. I shed a few tears reading your comments and really do feel like I am not alone. Reading your comments also made me wonder whom this brave and strong girl is. She can’t be me.
When I have a low blood sugar episode like the one yesterday that left me crying at my desk because I couldn’t complete a simple letter requested by my boss, I just don’t think I can do it. My mind hazy and thick with pressure from not enough blood getting to my brain, thoughts so jumbled they would not translate in to spoken words, hands shaking, hot and sweaty; all I could do was cry. I was scared that many more lows like this at work could possibly cost me my job. I continued to blubber uncontrollably because I hate diabetes so much at that moment that I wished for any other ailment. Anything but this.
“Cut me out of this role. I can't play it anymore.”
These lyrics from Better Than Ezra mimic how I feel about the big D. The role is not a good fit for me. I am too laid back, too reckless and far too undisciplined for the role of a diabetic. This role should have gone to someone who is stronger than me. To someone who is able to just build a bridge and get over it, as my husband likes to say. You should have given this role to a person who does not have the mental block that I seem to have. Give it someone who is better equipped to play the role.
I like the idea of accommodating diabetes rather than accepting it. Acceptance somehow feels like resigning yourself to fate or the role of the victim. Accommodate, yeah, I think I can do that. Almost as if I am providing housing, make that temporary accommodation, for diabetes and the nicer the lodgings I provide the less it will complain. Make no mistake, though, I do not share my body with this disease by choice, but I think I can accommodate it until there is a cure.
So here’s to being the Ritz Carlton of bodies for diabetes to use, for the time being.