[How] To be or not to be--that is the question. -Shakespeare [Hamlet's Soliloquy]

Sometimes my cats forget they're cats, and they act like humans. I'll walk upstairs after throwing in a load of laundry to find that the chicken sandwich I left on my plate has vanished.  For a moment I think to myself "What the %@$? Who ate my sandwich?"  

That's when my cats suddenly snap out of it and remember they're not human after all. They get all skittery and run into the bedroom to hide. The pretense of their humanness is over. And while I'm not big on stealing sandwiches, I had a similar moment yesterday where pretense quickly vanished.

I felt good at first. I kind of forgot I was diabetic. I felt like a kid again (the pre-Type I diabetes version). It was a full-on celebration of goofiness in honor of my mom's birthday--at Dave & Busters. Mom and I had a lot of fun, but twice that evening I found myself "snapping out of it" as the reality that I was, in fact, diabetic, set in. Twice I struggled with very low bloodsugars. Apparently, pretending to ride Harleys, jumping virtual rope for tickets and playing competitive air-hockey takes it outta a girl. 33 mg/dl was a low moment, indeed.

As the mother of twins with Type I diabetes, it isn't easy for her to see her "babies" suffer, no matter the age. Despite tweaking basal rates and testing before, during and after her birthday party, the lows hit me suddenly. I couldn't control the urge to drain two glasses of Coke in a matter of minutes. At times I barely notice the symptoms, but yesterday's string of lows really shook me up. At bedtime, a 61 mg/dl was followed up by a 331 mg/dl after treating my hypoglycemia too aggressively.

That frustrating cycle of "low-overtreat-high-overbolus---low-overtreat-high" still gets me sometimes. In my weak, shakier moments, I feel afraid and vulnerable. I just wanted to be a kid again, and wanted my mom to experience the non-diabetic version of me. It didn't happen. I tried to hide it from my mom, but twice that night I felt very much the opposite of strong and young and carefree despite the playful environs. Twice I felt guilty for having to stop the festivities, divert attention, and treat my lows. Logically I know it wasn't "my fault," but sometimes the illusion of full responsibility beats the alternative. Sometimes, admitting I'm not in total control feels much, much worse.

Like many diabetics, I am still relatively young, but carry the heavy burden of fear that accompanies me after twenty-one years struggling with some of this stuff. No matter how many times I've experienced the awful symptoms of severe hypoglycemia, there's still this visceral, primal fear and panic that rises up in me during those hazy-headed, shaky lows. They're scary and hard to handle while fuzzy-brained. And while diabetics can't live in a state of constant fear and anxiety (or we'd never get out of bed in the morning), this undercurrent of fear is one of the hardest complications for me to live with--fear of things like painful neuropathy and vision loss accompanied by fears surrounding how well I'd handle all that, and the effect it'd have on me and my family. Fear that guilt and shame may overpower me if this body that has worked so hard to keep me going all these years (despite less than optimal conditions) one day fails me-and the fear that that day may not be so far off. The fear of death coming before I'm ready for it.