It's my time...to appreciate the past.

Dear Mom,

I've probably never thanked you out loud for the years of care that you've put into my life. And I should. Every day of my life. Because you have been the rock, the support, and the lifeline that I've need in the past 16+ years of living with diabetes.

I've heard the way you tell my diagnosis story. I hear the fear in your voice, the emotion run through you. I know that those months were some of the hardest in your life. When you talk about watching me have seizures and bad night lows, I hear that same fear and emotion. I know having a diabetic child must be one of the most difficult things to encounter as a parent. I know it wasn't what you expected or wanted or needed in your only girl.

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Can we be better caregivers? I guess. We can always be better. We were thrown into this diabetes life without much warning just like many of you. We were caregivers merely by having children, but care-giving on this level is a beast of another color.

On this day, six years ago, Charlie was diagnosed with diabetes. He was still slurping from a bottle. What is it about the fall? So many people are diagnosed this time of year.

The changing leaves. Halloween. Sunday football. Apple cider. Sweaters. Murder within the pancreas. All trademarks of autumn.

I was giving Maeve a bath when Susanne decided to take him to the hospital despite the pediatrician’s lackluster opinion on the matter.

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I chanted: Iwillgetupinthemorning. Iwillgetupinthemorning. Iwillgetupinthemorning.

I got up on time.

I did not go back to sleep. (Monday is easy, surprisingly.)

I left on time.

I did not freeze in the 45 degrees.

I pushed.

I coached.

I encouraged.

I praised.

I wondered where the Drill Sergeant was.

I looked for the coyote I've seen three times.

I was surprised my muscles didn't ache.

I praised.

I encouraged.

I walked for the first time in two weeks.

I breathed the cold air in deeply.

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Whether or not we recognize it explicitly, we are all caregivers (aka, T3s). Whether we serve a family member, someone in our neighborhood or church, or just others on the dLife forums and in the dLife community, we are each part of someone else's diabetes support team.

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The magazine I work for is not for health-care professionals. It’s not even close to being something read by health-care professionals. Yet the audience deals with health-care and insurance issues on a regular basis. So for me to read and edit a story about wellness or diseases is not uncommon.
 

I have become quite defensive of the truths about diabetes and of making sure people understand the differences between type 1 and type 2. As someone who was originally diagnosed with type 2 and who lived with that label for three years I know the blame that can be placed on the victim.
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I have two eyes. 

I have ten fingers. 

I have two legs.  And two thighs. 

I have one insulin pump.   

I have about fifteen blood glucose meters.  

When I was a little kid, my mother used to tell my brothers and me to stop counting.  What she meant was to stop looking at how many cookies someone else got, or how many toys someone else had, or how much money someone else got in their allowance - and comparing it to what we had.  She would say "when you count what others have, and compare, it's easy to forget what YOU DO have."  

Sound advice.

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