I’ll be your master of ceremonies. My top hat, black and shiny and oh so worn, beckons you with a twitch of my wrist to come closer. The show, I promise you, is mesmerizing.
You’ll find plenty of interesting games for you to play on the midway before you enter. Guess The Blood Sugar is one of my most popular, followed closely behind by Why Did Your Blood Sugar Do That When You Did Nothing Different? The booth, Five Years To A Cure, is pretty old, but there are those who still try to win the prize.
Take your seats.
Watch your step as the lights dim and strobes flash. Diabetes likes to make an amazing entrance.
I wield the whip on my hip to keep the nasty blood sugars at bay, watching the arc of my CGM as I crack them into submission.
Like my shiny black boots? They’re my boots of truth. I use them to stomp on those pesky little fallacies about this disease. (They make little sighs and oofs as I grind them into the dirt.) But they know it’s a show, so they come back the next day, sometimes towing new friends.
The clowns in the corner are unpredictable. Sometimes, their antics are hysterical, bringing down the house with laughter and giggles as my blood sugars creep lower. They’ll want you to believe that everything is just hunky-dory. Don’t believe them. Those clowns will turn on you in a hot minute, smearing their greasepaint as they sob uncontrollably and unexpectedly. I don’t pay them anything, but they keep showing up. Can’t get good help these days.
My magician act is stupendous, if not a little unoriginal. From thin air, I pull carbohydrate counts and multiple mitigating factors, weaving them into my day while walking on that thin wire above our heads.
The music you hear? Relentless drumming that ebbs and flows in volume, depending on how precarious the act becomes. And you must know… sometimes the show is more dangerous than I let on.
The monkeys chatter from the top of the trapeze artist’s perch, chiding me about past mistakes and future fears, while the dogs on bicycles wearing party hats circle below, distracting me from my goals.
The sweet, wise elephants never let me forget that the show must always go on.
And it does.
Every day, even when I want to drag the big top to the group, ripping up poles and stakes. There is no rolling into the next town.
I am forever here, in the center of the ring, waiting.