Admitting I Hate Diabetes
In all areas of my life, I’ve been thinking about my feelings much more than I have in awhile. Sienna starting kindergarten (and actually starting in her after school program’s summer session this month) sent me for a bit of an emotional tailspin. My baby’s growing up and entering the real world, kind of anxiety and sadness. As I’ve been sorting through these feelings, my diabetes control has been shaky, at best. One morning recently I woke up to a 300 mg/dl and after a correction bolus and a quick jog, crashed in at 48 mg/dl.
That day was the first time I adamantly announced, “I HATE diabetes.” It felt good.
I’ve always been a cheerful, optimistic person. Which, at one level, is good; but, as with any extreme it can be taken too far. When I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at 13 years old, I didn’t spend a lot of time mourning my diagnosis. My parents didn’t want me to lose the independence I was gaining as a teenager, so I did all of my own finger sticks and insulin injections right off the bat. They wanted me to feel empowered, so the mantra was basically, “You can do this! Take it in stride! It’ll make you a stronger person.” I got on board and never really went through any rebellion toward managing my diabetes.
Several years and two healthy babies later, I’m glad that my diabetes and I were “friends” during my pregnancies. Managing my blood sugars so tightly did give me a great sense of satisfaction and helped me achieve my ultimate goal of being a mom. However, as I’m nearing the 20th anniversary of my diagnosis date, my feelings toward having this disease are all over the map. There’s pride at managing it fairly well, frustration that I still have to wake up to this disease daily, and a little repressed anger that I never went through a stage of really hating diabetes.
I saw this little saying on Facebook the other day that said, “Sorry mom, you taught me not to hate, but I hate Type 1 diabetes.” Something like that. When I read it, I chuckled. But, I think it’s therapeutic and important to, every once in awhile, just admit that this disease is awful to live with and I really do hate it. Who’s with me?