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.

But damned if I don't look at the green eyes of my best friend and think "I wish I had eyes like that, eyes I didn't have to worry about."

And damned if I don't look at the woman on the treadmill next to me at the gym and think "I wish my body was like that, I wish I could run like that without fear of a plummeting bloodsugar."

And damned if I don't watch other people and wonder what their life is like - and how my life would be without having to always think about the number of carbs, and my bloodsugar averages, and my A1C and my dosing. 

Diabetes is relentless.  The numbers swim in my head all day.  If I know I'm going to have a number I don't like, sometimes I just won't test.  And I can't help but count, and compare. 

And I can't help that when I think of what I do have, I sometimes think less positively than is fair or reasonable. 

I have two eyes.  And I'm worried that someday I won't be able to see from them.

I have ten fingers.  They are destroyed, calloused, messy.

I have two legs.  Two thighs.  That are dotty, spotty, scarred.

I have one insulin pump.  A hanging beeping mechanical mess that is a pseudo-gland.

I have about fifteen blood glucose meters.  That throw out news I don't always want to see.  Numbers numbers numbers.

I have a battle happening constantly in my head.  The the struggle to see my eyes simply as the windows to the beauty that surrounds me, and my fingers as the amazing tools they are, and my thighs as healthy and strong in spite of the scars, and my insulin pump as a blessing that helps me to live well, and my meters as the means of delivery for numbers that help me to be better, more healthy. 

I am not always successful in my efforts to stay positive.  I am not always successful in my efforts to take my mother's advice and "stop counting."  But the thing is, I will never stop trying.  And that, in the end, is what matters.

I have two eyes and I need to see everything I'm blessed to have.