"What's the matter?" The Mr. wanted to know when I called him at work today just before lunch. "You sound like someone just kicked your puppy."

I chuckled. I was trying to hide it, but I guess not successfully.

"Nothing," I lied.

Truth is, I'm not really sure what's wrong with me. I've been so psyched about going on the pump since the process really got under way last week. But I've been sort of in a funk since yesterday when I got bloodwork results from my endo that indicate I am not type 2, but most likely type 1.5 (also known as latent autoimmune diabetes in adults).

"This doesn't change anything," I told The Mr. last night as we snuggled in bed. "Nothing about my diabetes management changes with this new information." And it's true; the only thing that changes at this point is a label. But for some reason I just can't shake this funk I've fallen into.

Rebecca asked exactly what I think I'm grieving over: "The loss of pancreatic function?". Perhaps, I told her.

In reality, I think what's happening is a delayed reaction to my original diagnosis. I don't remember grieving in February 2005; I feel like I embraced a new normal and just went on with life. Seems to me, actually, that I told lots of people what was going on with my health, sort of parading my shortcomings around to whoever would listen.

This must be coming from knowing where I've been and where I have left to go. The value of hindsight.