April 18, 2010 at 4:48 pm Leave a comment

It could well be the effect of raging female hormones at this point in time, but tonight I’ve been feeling a little teary about the whole diabetes deal. The thing about being diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes is that I often feel like I brought it all on myself, and that my pancreas decided to malfunction because of things I did.

I can’t deny that lifestyle was not a factor. It definitely was.

But neither can I deny that there were other factors involved as well – stress, genetics and so on.

It has been a month since I decided to get back on the diabetes control bandwagon. Things have been alright. I have been watching what I eat, and making better food choices. I am beginning to enjoy working out a little again (although I still haven’t started training for my 5K) and I have been keeping track of my numbers. I’m beginning to re-understand that diabetes care will give me a better quality of life and it’s only good for me.

But I don’t really think I’ve dealt with the emotional aspect of my diabetes well yet. As much as I am slowly accepting this crazy condition as part of my life (seriously, Type 2 is crazy. I have no idea why my liver/pancreas like to do things like make my BG level shoot up and refuse to budge after I work out), a part of me still hates it with a vengeance. Gosh, sometimes I wish the word diabetes never existed.

A part of me still longs for a life without having to prick my fingers four times a day at minimum, count carbohydrates (I love my sushi rice and pasta), visit various doctors throughout the year and it makes me feel older than I really am. I am 22, by the way. I refuse to round up my age because my birthday’s not till later this year.

At the same time, a part of me still thinks I need to hide this condition and keep it a secret, that I’ll be rejected by my friends if I remind them that I have diabetes. That they will snigger when I refuse a bite of that lethal chocolate cake which will shoot me sky high and send my blood into sugar-laden paradise. That they will treat me with extra special care.

I forget that they are the ones who sat with me when I lay in a hospital bed, who watched me cry when I was scared to take my insulin shots, who pandered to my initial paranoia about putting food into my mouth and would go out of their way to buy me special takeaway foods when we ordered in. They watched me munch on digestive biscuits in the wee hours of the morning during a stay over because my blood sugar was running a bit low for my liking and I wanted it up before I slept.

I suppose that I feel diabetes is a battle I must face alone. And I admit to feeling alone in this, feeling like an outcast, a leper to some extent. I smile, I laugh, I joke and I take a swig of my Diet Coke, looking longingly at the (sugary) iced teas my friends are drink, and it feels different. I know I am as normal a young woman as anyone else is, yet there is something different about me I cannot run away from. And boy does it hurt sometimes.

I don’t know what or how to conclude what I am writing because the story hasn’t ended yet. I still face days when I look at the mirror and totally dislike what I see. I can only say that in time, I want to be able to look in the mirror and see a strong and beautiful woman looking back at me. One who knows she has a broken pancreas, but who doesn’t allow that to hinder her from doing anything, and who doesn’t hide the fact either. One who knows she is beautiful in spite of the scars, one who knows that the pain she’s been through has only made her more beautiful inside, and out.


Entry filed under: D-related musings.

30. the most versatile food.

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Diabetes 365

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