Days bleed, literally, into another with diabetes.
We plod along, following the routines we devised or been given to maintain a disease that plots against us. It is routine for us, but this wily condition throws curveballs when we least expect it.
It becomes tiresome. Boredom can set in. Familiarity breeds contempt. Slacking isn’t really an option, but there are days that I make it an option. The consequences may pop up but sometimes, albeit rare, you slide under the radar and nothing bad happens. Those are lucky days.
Diabetes, although I never expected it to be, has become a major focus in my life. I’m steeped in it, marinated in it. Between writing about it, talking about it, creating non-profits to help others raise their voices about it, helping create peer support opportunities for it… Diabetes is pumping through my heart, infusing itself throughout my body.
And yet, I forget. I forget why I do this. Why I care and keep checking and keep tweaking basal rates and seeing doctors and researching and speaking out and trying to break through the glass so everyone can stop looking at diabetes through a dirty lens.
Then I remember why.
I told her that I didn’t know, but if I had my way, the answer would be no.
But the answer right now if I don’t know isn’t good enough. I remember this.
I do it for him. He is the instigator of ideas, the man who pushes me forward when I don’t think I can go further, the comforter when I am panicking from a low, the one who reminds me that no one is expected to act like a major organ. He makes me remember.
I forget sometimes. And then I remember that I do it for you. Me. Until the day comes when we can all forget diabetes, I will remember.