I'd Just DIE!

I receive a text from Travis around 1 on Tuesday asking if I want to go to the Braves game that night. Travis is Joshua's best friend and it's not uncommon for them to trade girlfriends with each other for short periods of time. "That would be really fantastic!" I text back. I've never been to a Baseball game before. We make plans for Travis to pick me up at Wesleyan after work. I go to dinner early and have just enough time to eat before Travis texts me he's on his way. Unlike Florida, that means he's about 10 minutes away, max. I put my plates away then rush over to my dorm to grab my stuff - insulin and meter being the most important things, of course. I meet Travis out by the front porch of Hightower and climb into his massive Red Ford. The trip to Atlanta is surprisingly fast; the traffic is especially good for 5pm. I'm excited as I take in all of the new sights and surroundings; "HILLS!" I exclaim happily, as if they are the most wonderful thing in the world. Travis laughed at me but I just thought that they looked so beautiful; they even made the traffic look pretty, one long string of lights moving through the curvature of the land.

We arrive at Turner Field amongst the pre-game rush of pushing crowds and shouting security guards. We make our way across the street to the entrance to the stadium and meet up with Travis' brother and some other people. Travis takes me around the stadium, showing me its odd quirks such as the giant Chick-fil-A cow with the arm that makes chopping motions whenever the Braves score, and the giant chairs situated near the top of the stadium. We go back down to our seats at around 7:10 and the game begins. I have to admit; I'm not a baseball fan, but baseball is so much more exciting to watch when it's in person! I loved the experience of people watching, being part of a crowd, and feeling like a part of the excitement. I loved all of the unique, delicious smells of the food, seeing people on the live cam, and actually being able to take a legit interest in the teams' scores (the Braves only scored one Home Run, sadly.)

I was glad that I had gone, and thankful that Travis had offered to take me. After the game's conclusion we headed back to the truck. Traffic wasn't bad and we made it back to I-75 rather quickly. On the way back my stomach grumbles. It's been since 4:30 that I've eaten anything and it's almost 11PM. "I'm sooo hungry, but, I really shouldn't eat anything because of my blood sugar... hmm." Travis suggests Waffle House, which is never something I can turn down!

After getting back to Zebulon in Macon we sit down at Waffle House. I perused the menu. Pointlessly, I might add - I'd only ever gotten one thing at Waffle House, and that, humbly enough, was a waffle. Both Travis and I request unsweet tea, and I ask for the little artificial sugar packets and whether they have sugar free syrup. The waitress gets me both and I happily sip my tea as we wait for our food to come up. I take out my meter and test my Blood Sugar - 146, better than it's been - and pull out my Novolog for later.

"Do you have Diabetes?" The waitress practically shouted when she returned. I moved to face her. "I do," I said, eying my insulin pen, the scattered Sweet 'n Low sugar packets on the table, and the sugar free syrup sitting inches away. Right. How could you possibly guess? "You're too young to have Diabetes, sweetie!" She tells me disapprovingly. My feathers ruffle. "It's not Type 2..." I say to empty air, as she walks away just then. "Ugh. That annoys me so much," I tell Travis, who is sitting right across from me. He laughs and tells me I shouldn't leave my insulin pen out if I don't want people to make a conversation about it. He's right, but most people never even notice my insulin, let alone make a comment about it. To them it just appears to be an odd-looking pen. Either way, I put the insulin pen away into my purse. I don't care if people comment about my Diabetes. In fact, I usually love talking about it. But it's the ignorant comments that get to me, that common myth in circulation about how all Diabetics got their disease from obesity or unhealthy living.

The waitress comes back over. "I guess Diabetes doesn't discriminate, does it!" She says to me. "Does it, huh?!" My face is the picture of blankness - well, I try to make it so. "Yeah." I say stiffly in reply. She sets down our food - waffle and butter for me, and Travis' order. "I tell you what," she goes on, "If I didn't have to take a pill for my Diabetes, I'd die! I'd just die! If I had to give myself those insulin shots, why, I'd just have to die." "Well, it's not like I really have many other options," I mumble, annoyed. "I know a girl who I work with that has to give herself insulin shots," The waitress says again. "If I couldn't take pills instead, I'd die!" She said, again, and walks away.

The waitress irked me. Call me touchy but I felt like her comments were ignorant if not slightly insulting. One of the first things that people always tell me when I tell them about having to give myself insulin shots each day is, "I could never do that. I'd just die." This just makes me go completely D-Postal sometimes. (See Kerri's blog post for the definition to my new favorite Diabetes-Word!) I feel as if people too often criticize me for my decision to live with Diabetes and my doing what it takes to treat it. As if there aren't so many other things they could criticize a person for, they choose that. More than once people have told me they don't understand why on Earth I'd ever choose to deal with living with Diabetes and its respective downsides. "YOU DON'T GET IT," I want to shout. Why on Earth wouldn't you choose life? Diabetes is a terrible disease to live with, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. I hate Diabetes, and I hate what Diabetes does to me. (See previous blog post on Diabetes' and I's tumultuous relationship.) There's not a day goes by that Diabetes doesn't fail to make me feel crappy in some way, whether it's through a particularly debilitating low Blood Sugar, or three in one day, a BG of 436 that leaves me feeling like failure about myself for the rest of the day, the sting of a needle, seeing my supply of highly expensive, life-saving drugs dwindle, remembering that I can't just go drink a flipping milkshake or randomly snack when I want anymore, or just being really darn sick of having a Chronic Disease.

But the end point is, despite how much it completely, inevitably blows to live with Diabetes, it's worth it. Why?

Because I have something greater to live for than myself.


I have a man that loves me, a fantastic family, and a God that has a plan for me that is so special and unique in its own way, whatever it may be. I have beautiful Fall Days, chocolate rice cakes, Waffle House and quiet mornings by the Lake. And maybe that waitress didn't get it. Maybe all of the people that criticize my choice, my recognition of the absolute privilege that life is, don't understand at all. Diabetes isn't worth giving my life for. Diabetes doesn't deserve that satisfaction, that victory. My life is greater than Diabetes, and it always will be.

I wolf down my waffle - I'm super hungry and it's delicious - and Travis finishes his food. We leave, and Travis drops me back off at Wesleyan. "Thanks so much again!" I tell him. I had had a great time that night, and you know what? Diabetes hadn't made it any less wonderful. Not in the least.