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Despite the fact that temperatures here in the Valley of the Sun (or as my brother likes to call it The Actual Sun) continue to hover around 100 degrees, it's technically fall, which means that flu season is upon us.

 

I don't think I ever got a flu shot prior to getting diabetes. I was healthy for the most part and likely didn't understand what the flu really is. And even four years into the disease, last fall was the first time I got the shot since being diagnosed.

 

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I had another interesting experience today. I was in a restaurant and an older woman sitting at a table near me began to get sick. She was vomiting a little and the people she was with, her son and her friend weren't exactly sure what was happening. Her waitress and the restaurant manager were obviously and understandably a little nervous. Other people began to talk and wonder what was going on and then finally I heard those famous words again, "I'm diabetic". So I went over to her and I introduced myself, eerily similar to my "diabetic angel" experience. I asked her what was going and told her that I was also diabetic. She told me she had been having some high sugars and she hadn't been feeling well. She said her blood sugar was in the 400's earlier and she had just taken 6 units to get it down.

This little lady was so sweet.
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In my last post, I posed the question of why diabetes has not been as high in the general public's awareness as breast cancer, AIDS, or even the Iranian election earlier this year. I left off quoting Christopher Thomas of Diabetic Rockstar, saying "we can't even decide on a color [to represent diabetes awareness]."

 

 

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To: Michelle's boss
From: Michelle
Date: Tuesday, Sept. 23, 2008
Subject: Tomorrow morning

 

Hey, boss. I'm going to have some bloodwork done on my way in tomorrow. I should be in by 8:30. I went to do it on Friday afternoon, but my doctor's office failed to tell me I had to be fasting. Grrr.

 

To: Michelle
From: Michelle's boss
Date: Tuesday, Sept. 23, 2008
Subject: Re: Tomorrow morning

 

OK. I hope everything's OK.

 

To: Michelle's boss
From: Michelle
Date: Tuesday, Sept. 23, 2008
Subject: Re: Tomorrow morning

 

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One of the more heated discussions going through the diabetes online community is whether or not type 1 diabetes should be renamed to avoid it being lumped in with the public perception of type 2 diabetes. "Don't blame me because my pancreas decided to crap out on me!" is the rallying call -- implying, rightly or wrongly, that type 2 diabetes is always caused by the person with diabetes, through a combination of poor diet choices and poor lifestyle choices. Many people with type 2 diabetes -- particularly the young, fit, and not-obese -- also take issue with that perception. 

 

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Every so often, a discussion will pop up about how to refer to those of us with glucose metabolism issues. Whether it's "diabetic versus person with diabetes", "borderline versus prediabetes", or even the whole "Type 1 / Type 2 / Type 1.5 / Gestational / Other" schema, these discussions run very deep to the core of our sense of identity... perhaps just as deeply as skin tone, religion, or ethnicity.

 

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Just as hyperglycemia is but the tip of the iceberg when discussing the physical ravages of diabetes, depression is but the most visible diagnosis of how diabetes affects our minds.

 

I'm not talking about the temporary states of anxiety or paranoia, lassitude or somnolescence, that accompany our glycemic highs and lows, but the long-term, "you should get psychological help for this" effects of living with chronic disease in general, and diabetes in particular.

 

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When I was in grade school, regardless of whether our Trick-or-Treat costumes were home-made or store-bought, whether we wore masks or make-up, our huge paper loot bags were accompanied by small orange milk cartons stamped with information from UNICEF -- The United Nations Children's Fund. Printed on the cartons were examples of what a small donation might do for a child in a third-world country -- a nickel, for example, might provide a child with a pencil and notebook for school; a dollar might vaccinate him against smallpox or polio; five dollars could get his town clean water. The following school day, our teachers would collect the milk containers. The local PTA would count up the money and submit the school's UNICEF donation for that year.

 

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I generally consider myself to be fairly mature for my age. I've attributed my maturity to the experiences I've been through, mostly from dealing with a chronic illness from such a young age. It definitely puts a different spin on your whole life. You consider life as temporary, something to be cherished. You know you don't have all the time in the world.

 

Despite the maturity, I've still got growing up to do. There are things that diabetes and all my other experiences haven't taught me. I still have the passion and will of my youth to contend against on a regular basis. I'm holding on to pieces of that youth for good reason, seeing where maturity can change life for the worse in some ways.

 

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I don't think I've ever hidden my diabetes from anyone in my life. In fact, shortly after I got the call that I was pre-diabetic I was standing in my boss's office telling her.
I've never hidden it in public, either. When I was pregnant with No. 3, a friend of mine and I went to a restaurant for lunch. We were at a restaurant/bar type of place and sitting pretty much in the back. I think there was another table of people around us, but, frankly, they weren't paying attention to us. And why should they? We ordered, I checked my sugar and then prepared to shoot up. Now, this was several years ago, but I distinctly remember her saying, "Are you going to just do that here?"
With the pen needle cap in the corner of my mouth and the skin on my right love handle pinched, I said, "Yea-uh. It's not like anyone can see me." I would have done it right there even if someone was watching. (READ MORE)

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