In his initial post as Diabetes OC featured blogger, Christopher Snider (@iam_spartacus) writes about many personal traits which define him. At the end of the litany he states that not one of is self-identifiers is "person with diabetes", noting that it is not "the defining characteristic of my core".
Many of us believe that we are not defined by our diabetes. Others, who have lived with diabetes since before they were old enough to remember, find that diabetes is a defining characteristic, in that their personalities and psychological development was shaped by being a young child having to cope with a chronic autoimmune disease. It almost sounds like it could be a perverse children's argument (--"I am not my diabetes!" -- "Are too!") that could go on ad nauseam, or more likely, ad hypoglycemia or ad DKA.
It's kind of odd for me to associate "TV vampires" and "diabetes", as I'm not that much of a "vampire" fan -- but if there's one thing I'm known for, it's making strange connections. In this case, the connection is the variation in how a vampire is defined and understood from fictional universe to fictional universe.
In Forever Knight -- my introduction to vampire-based fiction --Nick, Lacroix, Janette, and the other vampire characters are pretty much the people they were before they were "brought across" (made into vampires). They retain the memories and prejudices of their human (pre-vampire) lives. While fans argue about how effectively they are able to adapt to modern philosophies, legal constructs, moral sensibilities, and aesthetics, the characters are essentially human, with the characteristics of vampirism overlaid. The characters themselves argue about whether the vampiric aspect of their mutated physical selves -- "the vampire", in Nick's terms -- is separate from their psyches or souls, and whether or not they actually have souls. It is a similar construct to those of us who consider diabetes to be a factor in our behaviors and (to a lesser degree) our outlooks on life and the way we adapt to life, but who do not consider it to be the overwhelming factor in our self-identification.
Contrast this with the vampires in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and its spin-off, Angel. I've not followed the series, so I may get some of the details wrong, but the analogy should still hold. For the most part, Buffy-verse vampires are demon spirits who have inhabited human bodies and have either suppressed or destroyed the psyches and experiences of the humans who originally inhabited those bodies. The exceptions -- vampires like Angel who were "cursed" by having souls, and therefore some level of conscience, are the oddities whose presence is meant to help develop the main, mostly high-school-aged, human characters. In Buffy, the demon is the vampire, and the demon is the person. It is the "I am my diabetes; my diabetes defines me" philosophy.
I don't expect there to be much argument against a childhood diagnosis having a significant impact on one's psychological development. Children with diabetes don't have as many options of spontaneity or of disobedience as their normoglycemic peers. Some part of them has to be "grown up" -- at least enough to understand the need to check their blood glucose levels, how to draw up and administer injections (or operate their pumps), how to count carbs, and how to correct for highs and lows; also, to learn to put up with the discomfort of self-care and the feelings of social isolation that these processes can engender. At least in this sense, they indeed are their diabetes, as their diabetes has formed and shaped them.
Those of us who were diagnosed later in life may have a different outlook. We may have the defiant attitude of vampires who were "turned" or "brought across" against their will, or the reluctant attitude of someone who found out that an eternity of nights is not all it was cracked up to be. "Diabetes", regardless of how we address the issues of self-care, is something separate from us. We may be defiant enough to consider it to be a separate being, occupying the same space as our physical bodies and getting in the way of us living the life we want to live.
We may, however, just consider it a new aspect of our existing beings. And just as the "more well-adjusted" vampires in the Forever Knight universe see the limitations of their nocturnal lifestyles in the context of their enhanced physical powers, so too do some of us see the limitations of living with diabetes in the light of enhanced understanding of our personal health and our ability to live healthy lives.
Thank you. Someone who knows how I feel.
I dunno. I'm Jewish, and wouldn't it seem silly to argue that I'm a person with Jewishness just because I'm clearly other things too? Like, I'm a person with maleness, I'm a person with graying hair, I'm a person who needs to exercise more. And, yeah, I'm also person with diabetes, but ain't it easier just to say, "I'm diabetic."? Just my 2 cents.
This blog brings up an intersting point I have noticed over the years -- essentially that juvenile-onset and adult-onset diabetes commonly result in different attitudes and perceptions of self in relation to the diabetic condition. I very much appreciate the author's ability to balance the differing perspectives in her blog. I am not so balanced, but my writing this comment is intended to be respectful to everyone reading it, and just as honest with my own personal feelings.
I often wonder, as a self-identified diabetic type 1, about the level of self-acceptance one may have who is unable or unwilling to identify with an absolutely permanent part of oneself, such as the condition of diabetes. To those of us whose identity was flexible and still in the process of forming at the time of the diagnosis, I understand first-hand how it could be easier than an adult-onset diagnosis to self-identify as a diabetic much like saying "I'm a man" or "I'm a dark-blonde" or "I'm a lyric tenor".
I suppose what I'm saying is that when I hear someone express diabetes as a separate unwanted part or addition to themselves, it makes me feel that the implicit message is that diabetes is somehow a bad thing unworthy of being associated with a human being or one's identity. It insidiously feels like a subtle betrayal that someone with diabetes would deliberately make known to others that diabetes is not an integral part of who they are, but rather some inconvenient "thing" they possess against their will. That isn't very encouraging. It is like hearing someone say "I'm not a man or woman, I'm a 'person' who 'happens' to exhibit male or female behavior -- I'm not a biological sex!" It sounds like an implicit accusation by the other person toward me that I have somehow inconsiderately and unthoughfully insulted them and that I "should" know better, with no respect to the undeniable fact that I too have diabetes. It is like the other person blaming me for being insensitive to their feelings, when I have gone through the same kind of trials and tribulations of diabetic management.
I have diabetes too, but I would have used a comparison more encouraging than an evil entity incapable of existing in the presence of sunlight. From my point of view, all I am saying is that maybe, to further the analogy, one may need to choose to add a little sunlight. It's easier to see beyond the darkness that way. The vampire will turn to dust and the person will still have diabetes anyway.