It is very different being a diabetic v. caring for a diabetic. Actually, I guess I’m not really qualified to say that, as I can only speak as a diabetic, but what I can tell you is that it irritates the hell out of me when I read stuff written by parents that waxes on about how hard it is to deal with their kid’s diabetes. fuck you. I’m not a parent. I know there are things that I don’t understand about that relationship, responsibility, position, but I can tell you that as a diabetic, i.e. the one who will actually die if I fuck something up, I have a really hard time feeling sympathy for an onlooker. I know that is harsh. I know that there are people in my life who have worried about me, had to watch me go through things that suck, watch me behave in ways that might not necessarily be the “best for me,” wonder if I’m going to be okay — and if I wasn’t open to hearing their opinion, stand on the sideline and wait for me to figure it out myself, or die trying. I realize that all of this might sound a tad dramatic, but that’s how I feel right now. The other part of this, which it’s taken me longer to get to, is that if I’m honest, I’m jealous of diabetics that were diagnosed when they still had a support system at home. I feel so alone sometimes. Even though I know that I had quite enough arguments with my parents growing up without another thing to fight over, let alone one with such gravity, but I can’t help but think, then I wouldn’t be alone. although… then I don’t have to take direction from anyone either… scratch parents, thank god I wasn’t married, that sounds worse than being diagnosed as a kid — at least resenting your parents is part of the deal, I can’t imagine going through that with a partner. Even the small taste of that I had was horrible — having to worry about another person’s reaction to what you’re already dealing with is a pain in the ass, it’s hard enough for me to deal with me. but then I guess that’s the catch, maybe I am better off on my own — is it possible to care for a diabetic without meddling in their diabetic life/choices/status? if you care, then you want to know, but then where does that leave the diabetic? I don’t need or want to have to report my “status,” even when asked in passing, especially by my parents, I find it super irritating (I know this reaction is not rational or polite). I know that people want to care, or that they do care, but rather than care, I wish they would just try to understand rather than try to help. Unless you can magically fix my pancreas you can’t help me… honestly, even my endocrinologist can’t really help me, all this shit is just a massive guessing game, so could you just be there? Just stay still, and love me. that’s all I need, and that’s all I ask.
So I knew I was having trouble with my sugars, I figured my dexcom read out wouldn’t be great, but I wasn’t prepared for this… my A1c went from 6.9 to 8.0 over 4 months. Now, relatively I guess it’s not terrible, but my doctor’s reaction was the thing that blew me away… you would have thought my A1c had doubled, and she’s making me come into see another PA (not my normal one) next month… so every month, instead of every three… I objectively accept that this makes sense, my A1c jumped so they want to keep a closer eye on me… but I’m not pleased. I’m not pleased with myself, with being monitored more closely, with being treated as a petulant child, with acting like a petulant child, with feeling like an idiot, with feeling exposed, and alone. Objectively, I can see this for what it is, I was away from home, my numbers haven’t been great, my doctor is on my side, she’s there to help me — but it doesn’t feel like that, I don’t want to be told what to do. Coming out of that appointment I resolved to do better, I don’t want to be told off again — I’m a fucking adult, but now away from home once more, I just had half a bagel… I know it’s not terrible, but I didn’t really want it, I was just working in the kitchen and my sister had brought them in from NYC, I mean they are good bagels, but I wasn’t even really hungry, they were just there and that’s 40-ish carbs that I didn’t need, didn’t really want, and now will be paying for the next couple hours, if not longer than that. And guess what’s for dinner, fucking pizza… self-control at night, I think not. This blows, I want to go back to LA, at least when I’m home I control the food that is in my apt. Oh yeah, did I mention my weakness for christmas cookies? #fml