N and M

I am on the floor of my brother's living room. My three year old nephew in my lap. He is reading to me about elephants and tigers, complete with animal sound effects. His body presses against my insulin pump, which in turn presses against my hip. I had almost forgotten that diabetes sits with me, even in these gorgeous, irreplacable moments. An unwelcome resident of my body, my mind, and my heart.

A little later, my nephew comes out of his bedroom and stands in the middle of the kitchen. He has a block tucked into the waistband of his pants. He pulls it out and starts pushing imaginary buttons.

I ask "What are you doing, Milton?"

"Giving my medicine, like Aunty Coley," he responds.

The goosebumps form as quickly as the lump in my throat. My eyes tear up. I am unsure what to say. If there is one part of myself I hope I won't pass on to any of my nieces or nephews, it is diabetes. My hot temper. Fine. My tendency to procastinate. OK. My poor eyesight. That's alright too.

I whisper a silent prayer. I beg whatever karmic forces might be listening to hear my plea.

Moreover, I am reminded of the looming presence of diabetes. In my life. In the life of my family. In the lives of so many. Diabetes currently affects 246 million people worldwide and is expected to affect 380 million by 2025. They are children and adults, of all races and creeds. Diabetes does not discriminate.

When I look into the face of my nephew, I can't help but think about the chance that he could someday be diagnosed with diabetes. When I look into his face, I see the many children I've known who live so bravely with this disease. When I look into his face, I also see the millions of people who live with diabetes and lack the education, resources, and support to be properly diagnosed and treated. And I realize how fortunate I am.

I am fortunate to have had parents who were engaged in the care and treatment of my disease throughout my childhood - and into my adulthood.

I am fortunate to have access to some of the best tools available. The medication and supplies that keep me alive.

I am fortunate to have insurance. Because as expensive as diabetes is WITH coverage, it would be completely unaffordable to stay healthy without it.

I am fortunate to have a curious mind - and a mind agile enough to understand my disease and agile enough to make adjustments as necessary.

I am fortunate to have a legion of support. To have friends that are always there - and who help me muddle through even the worst days with this thing.

Today, though, I think about those who are not as fortunate as I am. Those who are not as fortunate, as we (this community) are. And I encourage our readers to recognize World Diabetes Day. To visit the International Diabetes Foundation website. To make a gift to your chosen diabetes charity. I encourage you to look beyond your world with diabetes and think about those who live with this disease without the tools and resources that we have at our disposal.

I continue to hope for a day when I'll sit with my nephew in my lap and not feel the plastic device that keeps me alive butted up against my side; I hope someday I won't need that device. I continue to hope for a day when I won't quake at the thought of his being diagnosed with the disease that came, uninvited, into my and my family's world. I continue to hope for a day when people all over the globe will say "I HAD diabetes, but I'm cured."

Until that day, I'll keep on keeping on. I will never relent to the rigors of living with diabetes. And I will make a difference in every way that I can.

I hope you'll do the same.