Some days, I feel like my betta fish.
I live in a clear, glass box - one that a disease has singlehandedly constructed for me.
I was thinking this today as I was working at my job in admissions, mundanely shredding paper - as I reached for yet another pile to shred, one of the papers caught my eye.
On it was a short essay, and in that essay it said,
"I hope one day to someday do something great, like find the cure to Diabetes."
I stared at that paper for what seemed like a long time, wondering if the author of that sentence ever thought that it would reach, of all people, a Diabetic's hands. Lancet-scarred fingertips and all.
I felt like somehow, God had meant for me to find that paper - one out of hundreds of others I could have found. It was as if he was telling me,
"See? I think of you - and others do, too. You are not alone."
And it's true - I am not alone. In fact, I am constantly astonished at the support base I have. Joshua - who has researched Diabetes so much that he probably knows more about it than I do. Laurie - who gives me all the syringes and medical care I need! Tonya - my insulin drug lord, who frequently gets insulin for me in mayhaps shady but effective ways. My mother - who patiently gets my prescriptions and mails them to me each month, who has never complained about taking me all the way across town to the Doctor's, who always makes sure that I eat regular meals each day and understands my need for counting carbs. My father, who taught me that living with Diabetes doesn't mean living a life without happiness - on the contrary, it means thriving, and learning to be ever more joyful than before, despite the obstacles in my way.
And those that support me even without knowing me quite as well - the people who I am surprised to learn actually find my blog interesting enough to read, who give me a reason to keep writing. The people that stick around to have an intelligent conversation about my illness with me, giving us both an opportunity to share knowledge and experiences. And those coincidental, anonymous people who unknowingly write things about hoping to find the cure to Diabetes someday that make me smile inside, knowing that there will always be people trying to find a cure.
And oh, how I hope they do.
Diabetics can enjoy a wonderful life - full of all the perks and freedoms of normal, healthy people.
But Diabetes also means sacrificing a lot of freedoms.
My silent disease places me in a glass box that no one but myself seems to ever really be aware of - but that I always am. Others notice only what's inside the box - often never realizing what it's like to be on the other side. It imposes on me its boundaries, a constant reminder that while I am free to see the world there will always be something that separates me from everyone else. Leave me without insulin, and suddenly I can't eat. Without a glucose meter - both bolusing and eating become dangerous games. Alone, and without any carbs - if I get low, it could be life-threatening. All reminders that I am free - but, in my insulin-driven world, I am not quite free at all.
And in that respect, my betta and I have something very much in common.
I felt like somehow, God had meant for me to find that paper - one out of hundreds of others I could have found. It was as if he was telling me,
"See? I think of you - and others do, too. You are not alone."
And it's true - I am not alone. In fact, I am constantly astonished at the support base I have. Joshua - who has researched Diabetes so much that he probably knows more about it than I do. Laurie - who gives me all the syringes and medical care I need! Tonya - my insulin drug lord, who frequently gets insulin for me in mayhaps shady but effective ways. My mother - who patiently gets my prescriptions and mails them to me each month, who has never complained about taking me all the way across town to the Doctor's, who always makes sure that I eat regular meals each day and understands my need for counting carbs. My father, who taught me that living with Diabetes doesn't mean living a life without happiness - on the contrary, it means thriving, and learning to be ever more joyful than before, despite the obstacles in my way.
And those that support me even without knowing me quite as well - the people who I am surprised to learn actually find my blog interesting enough to read, who give me a reason to keep writing. The people that stick around to have an intelligent conversation about my illness with me, giving us both an opportunity to share knowledge and experiences. And those coincidental, anonymous people who unknowingly write things about hoping to find the cure to Diabetes someday that make me smile inside, knowing that there will always be people trying to find a cure.
And oh, how I hope they do.
Diabetics can enjoy a wonderful life - full of all the perks and freedoms of normal, healthy people.
But Diabetes also means sacrificing a lot of freedoms.
My silent disease places me in a glass box that no one but myself seems to ever really be aware of - but that I always am. Others notice only what's inside the box - often never realizing what it's like to be on the other side. It imposes on me its boundaries, a constant reminder that while I am free to see the world there will always be something that separates me from everyone else. Leave me without insulin, and suddenly I can't eat. Without a glucose meter - both bolusing and eating become dangerous games. Alone, and without any carbs - if I get low, it could be life-threatening. All reminders that I am free - but, in my insulin-driven world, I am not quite free at all.
And in that respect, my betta and I have something very much in common.
No comments:
Post a Comment