I don't believe in vaccines. Perhaps it was the family that I grew up in. Or the disease that I've lived with every day since a series of regular, routine vaccines when I was 4 years old. Maybe it's just my own understanding of health and traditional thinking.

But I don't believe in them. However controversial that might be and however many of you might hate/ban/harass me for it, I cannot bring myself to believe in them. And trust me, I have done my research.

When I was 4 years old, my mother took me in for all the regular vaccines. The most memorable for both of us is the MMR because it has since been linked to autoimmune diseases such as type 1 diabetes. Almost immediately, my mom noticed a change in me. I was sick, unlike myself, and in ill health.

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It's about once a week now that my college sends out an important "Flu" reminder. Wash your hands, stay at home if you experience symptoms, and seek treatment immediately for the more severe. We've had several reports of swine flu, including some students in my friends' classes. And more and more of my friends are coming down with colds and "flu-like symptoms."

For me, every reminder and every swine flu diagnosis sends a tiny shock-wave through my system. I know that my immune system isn't that of a healthy, non-diabetic. It has its weak spots, its vulnerabilities. Especially lately with all these highs and crazy numbers.

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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 noticed that you're diabetic," D. said looking over the patient information form as I was nursing the flu-shot-injection-site on my right arm.

"Yes," I said. Geez, I thought to myself, that's usually one of the first things I mention in a situation like this. I can't believe I didn't say anything up front. Could have been because I was the last in my family of five to go and I was busy comforting my children. (No. 2 volunteered to go first!) Interestingly, I wasn't looking forward to the shot. Actually kind of dreading it. I knew it was going to hurt. I've almost passed out in years past from shots in my arm. It's not the injection, it's the medicine -- it stings.

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Tiny, seemingly invisible water droplets soar through the air, projected by the reflexive action of a coworker. The inconspicuous flu virus enters your mouth or nose, it’s version of nirvana. Your warm, moist body provides the luscious environment for the evil-doers to multiply and make your week miserable.
This internal image along with cooling weather and sickly school mates and coworkers drives me to seek out a yearly flu vaccine. A stint with flu symptoms throws my routine into a domino of disruption. Not just with taking charge of diabetes needs, but by missing work, falling behind in school work and education, losing weight from appetite loss, and that endlessly obnoxious thumping in the back of my head. (READ MORE)