#actually diabetic

LIVE

Come on, guys! A month left to donate. These buttons are limited in quantity, and all you have to do is donate to help find a cure for type 1 diabetes! It’s a win-win! Just include your mailing address when donating:

http://www2.jdrf.org/site/TR?fr_id=6292&pg=personal&px=10474618

Like this cutie little button, designed by yours truly? You want one? Easy! 

This year, to raise money for JDRF, I’ll be sending one of these little guys to every person who donates to my page. Link below!

http://www2.jdrf.org/site/TR?fr_id=6292&pg=personal&px=10474618

Make sure you include your name and mailing address when donating!

If it goes well, I might make other diabuddies for you all! Pens, meters, etc…give me a reason! 

My blood sugar is taking forever to come down and I don’t know why…

Dear stranger from dance, 

I appreciate your asking about my pump, how it works, why I wear it. However, when you watched me check my blood sugar, your comment registered not interest and affection, but pity. In fact, you were’t even subtle. As I licked the small drop off the top of my finger, a routine part of my life, you said:

“That’s so sad.”

You didn’t even bother to whisper. You said it to my face, as if I should agree. Somehow, I was meant to validate your sympathy. Yet, here’s the thing–I’m not sad, and even if I were, your opinion of my condition would not affect that. 

People like me–people with disorders, illnesses, and disabilities–do not exist as receptacles for your empathy. You don’t get to feel elevated for your understanding nods and soft tones. I don’t need soft tones. I won’t break like a glass when your voice hits a high note. I do need your understanding, like any other human being. 

So, no I’m not sad. My life is just different from yours. The night you said that to me I danced until midnight, went for drinks with friends, and collapsed in bed just in time to get enough sleep for a  party the next day. I checked my blood sugar a few more times and changed a pump site in the midst of all that, yes, but that’s just my normal. And that’s okay. 

Picture this scene: 

I’m casually at a bar with a friend. Said friend suddenly grabs my shoulder and says, “You are suchan inspiration.”

Really? How? 

I appreciate the compliment, I suppose, but it’s false. What seems to make me “inspirational” is simply my ability to function as a human being. The fact that I do everything like anyone else does not make me special just by virtue of my illness. 

What this implies is that living with a disease or disability is so incomprehensibly difficult that we should be admired simply for existing. 

Living with a disease is not fun. It does not make you “special.” There’s nothing wrong with claiming your individuality as a sufferer, but it’s incredibly different when others claim it for their own purposes, be it self-aggrandizement, fantasy (more to come on that topic soon), or “inspo.” 

Tell ya what–you are inspirational because you do awesome things. You follow your passion, you have ideas, you kick ass. Proper pancreas or lack thereof is not a factor in fabulousness!   

…if it ain’t got that swing! 

I dance a lot. If you can’t find me at any given time, it’s probably because I’m twirling somewhere. When you’re a follow in swing dance, you have to be a “zen master.” Attuned to my partner’s cues, my mind goes blank. If I think too hard about what my body is doing, I stiffen and the dance falls apart. Yet, I’m still completely focused, aware, and ready in motion. 

It’s a lot like that with diabetes, too. If I think too hard and become neurotic about my BG, things go wrong. I overcorrect, under eat, and dip too low. If I’m not aware at all, well then…no one likes DKA. 

Like dancing, diabetes relies on communication between you and your body. And yeah, sometimes you trip and fall or accidentally punch your partner in the face, but that’s okay. It happens! 

Plus, dance (or any physical activity) is great for BG control and looking sexy. Representing that pump life!

loading