Just Another Day

The past 24 hours were pretty much ideal, Diabetically speaking. Normally that sentence would be sufficient for a twitter post. Alas, I’m still not properly motivated for verbosity and I’m doing everything in my power to resist the urge to come to any realizations. As much as Exhibit A, Exhibit B, Exhibit C, Exhibit D, Exhibit E, Exhibit F and Exhibit G (and likely more) have brought enlightenment to the DOC, I’m still a bit adverse to memes. It’s nothing against you all. I just don’t wanna. All that being said, I’m sure I’ll conform before the end of next week.

Now I’d like to rattle off some numbers for you, my eager-reader.

Wednesday, September 15
1:02am – 197
8:14am – 77
10:48am – 72
11:26am – 116
4:34pm – 199
8:03pm – 89
12:08am – 275

What’s odd is that with the exception of that post lunch 199, those numbers are ideal. Even that bloody 275 (no pun intended) is the target for the amount of Lantus I take at nights. I’m not posting these numbers to brag or boast. They are there to form a proper context, particularly for the few non Wilford Brimley Fan Club members that read my blog. All of those numbers are sweet, but that doesn’t even begin to paint the picture of what’s going on inside.

Inside I’m terrified. Inside I’m second guessing every bite. Inside I’m dreading the next finger prick, the next blood drop, the next reading from Bart Allen. I hear the single beep and watch the display cycle as my mood for the next few hours hangs in the balance. A solid ROI means I can resume regularly scheduled activities. Too high? All the doubt previously filling my head is justified. Clearly I went wrong somewhere. Too low? I discretely reach for some Ritz Crackers to try to mitigate my latest perceived failure. Hopefully no one can see the shame I’m trying to hide. Each blood test is like this. A test with no passing grade. In range? Great, do it again. Out of range? Stop slackin on your pimpin. Get your sh!t together. There’s a drill sergeant barking at me when I don’t keep my numbers in line. This is what you don’t see.

There’s a big hullaballo about Invisible Illness Week, and rightly so. There’s a whole mess of us dealing with things you will never see, even if you look for it you’ll never get the whole picture. But it’s not just the disease that eats away from the inside. It’s the weight of it all. It’s the burden of the doubt. It’s the fear of what part of the roller coaster we will experience tomorrow. There’s a whole thought process that you will never even comprehend because this “invisible illness” is omnipresent to those living with this particular brand of awesome. It’s invisible to the “ordinary”, to the “normal”, to the “healthy”, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not there. It is.

You see those numbers there? That’s 24 hours of focus. But Chris, if you can do it one day surely it can’t be too hard to replicate right? 1. Don’t call me Shirley and b. That’s just one day. What about tomorrow? Day in and Day out, it’s a grind. This is supposed to be a marathon not a sprint, even if we are just sprinting to the end of the day desperately reaching for the reset button on a day of failed control. Or is that the snooze button?

This “invisible illness” can feel like the weight of the world on your back some days. I’ve only been at this for nearly 7 years but this thing is a bitch. So while you can’t see Diabetes, trust me: it’s there. It’s always there. I am doing my damnedest to figure all of this out. I know that enlightenment with Diabetes is a myth but that’s not going to stop me from trying to reach the mountain top. And even with this past day of what appears to be excellent control, deep down I know it’s more fluke than trend. Because even if you repeat everything from insulin doses down to serving sizes, Diabetes never wants to cooperate with regularity. It’s a painstaking process that is unrelenting in every possibly way. No matter how hard I (we) try for a single day, that’s just one day. What about tomorrow? What about the day after that?

Ironically enough something that can’t be seen is constantly felt. It’s that awesome.

Editor’s Note: I decided to keep the streaming consciousness-ness of this post intact. It’s probably better this way to have fragmented sentences. My brain is always thinking about 1000 different things so it only makes sense that this post ramble on with no clear path. #iblamediabetes

7 thoughts on “Just Another Day

  1. (bear)

    Wish I had some insight to add but after working out then receiving a 207 five hours later, correcting then waking up to a 59 four hours later, then a 307 three hours later…..this Diabetes roller coaster just pisses me off.
    Some days I think, “Tomorrow will be better.”
    Other days I just don’t see how it will ever get better.

    That does not stop me from hoping it will though.

  2. Thank you for being so real & raw with this post. I think you nailed it on the head when you said “It’s the burden of the doubt” and “A test with no passing grade.” Although we all walk our own individual D life, I really think you hit upon common themes and feelings. Regardless of what Bart Allen says, I will always give you an A+ in my book.

  3. I can’t add much. I’ve been trying to write about Invisible Illness Week, and so far all I’ve come up with is a lot of nothing that makes any sense.

    This sums it up well because the never ending suck is indeed *that awesome*…

  4. You hit the nail on the head, Chris. Even when we don’t think about it, diabetes is there. As a diet-controlled T2, I don’t have the wild swings that many of you T1s get, but then it’s sometimes hard for someone who believes s/he can “eat anything as long as I calculate the insulin correctly” to understand how food switches from emotional and cultural nourishment, a thing to be enjoyed, to another in a string of medications to be taken in specific amounts at specific times, in response to specific symptoms.

    And yet, I’ll wager most T1s on MDI, or who have spent years on MDI before pumping, have had to adopt that same relationship towards Medical Nutrition Therapy. (I dare you to call glucose tabs “food”. Nutrition, yes — 5 grams carbohydrate nutrition. But food????? And I dare most people to call protein bars and shakes “food”, even though they are high in calories as well as protein, and often vitamins as well.)

  5. Really good post, Chris. Thank you. I know exactly how you feel. Having just reached my A1c goal, I feel like I deserve some kind of diabetes break…but that, of course, is not an option since taking a break would mean compromising my next A1c. Vicious, vicious circle.

    Cheers,
    Laura

    p.s. Your “don’t call me Shirley” comment made me laugh.

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