Ideas have been floating in my mind about how I was going to start this week’s series of blogs. This is my first Diabetes Blog Week, and honestly, I’m a little nervous. How am I going to knock it out of the park?
I thought about listing all the things I have been able to do since I was diagnosed. I thought about the fact that after I got home from a week long stay at the hospital, my muscles had weakend and I couldn’t even get up the stairs without crying. And how with determination, I am now able to run up and down those stairs daily. I thought about talking about my first time eating out at a restaurant with my husband and diabetes and how his encouragement of not being ashamed to check my blood sugars in public and take my insulin in public has given me the strength to be able to do so many other things with him, our girls, and diabetes. I thought about all the places we have travelled to since then and the people with diabetes I’ve met along the way. I thought about talking about my JDRF walk team #teamcuttheBS and how much we’ve raised together and how proud I am of the work we’ve done.
Today’s post is meant to talk about something that I am proud of accomplishing. And as proud as I am of all these things, nothing beats the text, email, or private message from one of my friends online who has been struggling with the notion of even checking his/her blood sugars. When I get that message from someone after they see a post of my meter that reads 238mg/dl asking me how I responded or the message that says, “I checked mine today too!” Or “I found my meter, I can start checking again.” Or the beer someone bought me because she was no longer “pre-diabetic.” I’d say those are the accomplishments I find most dear.
Why? Because until I sat in a room where everyone else checked their blood sugars, every time I checked my blood sugar, I felt alone. I find it impossible that I am the only person to feel this way. Why did I feel alone? No one else had to do it, no one else really had to react at the number that comes up (unless it’s super low and I’m passed out on the floor,) and no one else around feels the guilt I do when the number is “out of range” high or low. Loneliness sucks and I wish it on no one.
If I can help someone to find the strength in themselves, to get out that effing meter, prick themselves and brave whatever number flashes on that screen, then I have it it me to do anything.