[WARNING: Uncheerful post... sometimes we just need to vent]
My husband has this infuriating way of attempting to calm me down when I get worked up about stuff: he likes to say, “It’s really not a big deal.”
I know he means well, but oooh, I could just slap him upside the head when he says that. How the heck do you know what’s a big deal, Sgeeter? (that’s my private little smack-talk term for non-diabetic, sugar-eaters — when I’m in that kind of mood).
When I’m trembling and can’t find my meter and can’t think to reach for anything else… when I’ve dosed 3 times in three hours and I’m STILL coming up over 240… when the mail order pharmacy has lost my prescription AGAIN and I’m on my last vial of test strips… when I just know it CAN’T be time to go the lab for blood work again already, but it is… when everyone around me is gorging on fruit salad and birthday cake, and I know I just CAN’T… when I’m traveling and suddenly have a panic attack that I’ve forgotten my insulin or pump supplies… it IS a BIG DEAL.
Last week I received an email from a guy named Dave. He knows Jack, if you know what I mean:
“I have been a type I diabetic for 12yrs now and I find it very hard to stay on track. I am now 35. Nobody understands, not family or work. As it turns out I ended up being a stay-at-home dad as my job options have been limited. I missed out on a bunch of opportunities because of diabetes such as Helicopter pilot and FBI Special Agent. Both jobs I was accepted to but was eventually turned away after the physicals discovered my diabetes. Heck, I can’t even keep a job doing computer work as I get in trouble for my eating habits and bathroom breaks. Lots of lawsuits I could muster up, let me tell you…”
In my case, this crazy disease has somehow BECOME my job, so nobody’s gonna tell me what I can or can’t do. So I guess I’m lucky that way. But I’m not always liking it. I mean, there are times when we can all focus on the gifts that diabetes has brought us. But on a day-to-day basis, it can just be so G-D frustrating. Lots of days it really does feel like a big deal. (Admittedly, my mom likes to remind me that I come from a long line of high-strung women; not an asset). Still, on those lots of days, I just don’t want nobody tellin’ me what I should or shouldn’t get worked up about. Know what I mean?