Thirty-Five

In a way, I suppose this is a landmark diaversary post. 

I hate that phrase, really. I don't understand why chronic illness is something to be celebrated, or commemorated, or otherwise have a big deal made about. 

I mean, I don't remember the day I became hypothyroid (it was in April, second grade, which I only remember because I was on the edge of missing our field trip). I know the day I had the melanoma removed because it was Friday the 13th (December, 2013). It was two weeks before Christmas. 

But I don't celebrate those dates. 

But. Anyway. 

Thirty-five years of type 1. 

I literally do not know anything different. Sure, the technology has changed and improved, and it's not like I'm keenly aware that others do not have to deal with hypos, or managing blood sugars on a long run, or in making sure that yes, it is safe to go workout without fear of hypoglycemia. But all in all, this has been all that I've known all my life. 

It's sort of funny to see people's reactions when I talk about being diabetic, especially if they haven't known. Diagnosis at age 3 isn't that common, it seems, and people -- especially at work -- tend to try to hide surprise when I make a comment about "Oh, since I was a preschooler," with compounded surprise that nope, the only complication is some retinopathy. 

As a relatively well-adjusted adult dealing with type 1 on my own, my goal has always been to make the diabetes fit into my life, and not the opposite way around. My goal is to make it so that people who don't know me would be totally surprised if they see me pull out my ping, or if I need to treat a hypo. 

I never want someone to look at me and think, "Well, she only does that because she's diabetic." Or "It's such a pity she's diabetic. She could be amazing otherwise."

I don't want to be that type of annoying diabetic, where everything is focused on oh, I need to eat now because I'm diabetic. Or oh, I can't go do that because I'm diabetic. Or oh, I can't work late because I need to get home to eat because I'm diabetic. Or oh, I might be low, so you need to bring me food because I'm diabetic. 

Along with that, I don't spend my life focusing on blood sugar and insulin, and how to make all of that work. I use my pump to the best of my time and capabilities. I work with the endos to make sure that basals mean that I am not feeding the insulin. Because OMG I am so the worst person for having to "feed" insulin. It doesn't happen. It shouldn't happen.

And that means that sometimes, maybe the A1c goes a little higher. And that I have a probably uncharacteristic and unhealthy love for cookies and cupcakes (#sorrynotsorry). Or meals happen with no sense of regularity -- although I suppose some would argue that that is also connected to the eating issues, and they'd be right. But I refuse to structure my life in a way that caters to the diabetes. 

Providers who don't understand this? Either I don't work with them long or I simply become the prodigal patient. I come in when I need something, or for an annual appointment that I technically need to get scripts filled and the health insurer happy. 

In a way, I suppose all that is characteristic of me as a whole. I'm not a cupcake to work with, and I know it makes finding providers a challenge. And I'm certainly not the easiest diabetic to work with because I don't accept "You can't" as an answer.

But life? Life isn't easy. Thirty-five years of test strips (I swear, they multiply like bunnies), insulin vials, international travel, pumps, and needles? That isn't easy. 

And I wouldn't have it any other way.