A Snack-less Outing.

The sun hangs high in the sky, and birds sing their songs back and forth to each other from the branches above me. I step into the cool arboretum, sighing as if I've returned to a long-lost home. I love the outdoors, but let's face it: I'm pretty lazy. I work out in the AC, but I don't go outdoors much. Joshua laughs at me because I drive to the Wesleyan gym (which is just across the lake). So today, I was really proud of myself that I had decided to take a hike in Wesleyan's Arboretum. I've been there a few times, but did not know the area particularly well. I was not entirely sure what to expect.

Stepping into the arboretum is almost like stepping into another world. Everything surrounding me falls silent; the grating sound of the lawnmower across the hill, the screaming children on the tennis court, the cars of Tucker Road. The path descends and a wooden bridge takes you over the creek, where frogs hurriedly splash into the water upon hearing footsteps.

I walk on, basking in the afternoon sun that falls in fragments between the leafy canopy above me. My footsteps make soft sounds on the dirt path; squirrels play noisily in the leaves, darting up and down trees. It is peaceful.

A flash of color draws my eye downward. A box turtle sits, solitary, before eyeing me and retreating into his shell. I bend down to get a closer look. I decide to pick the poor little guy up, and I walk onward until I reach this absolutely beautiful clearing. I cannot believe Wesleyan has been hiding this place in their backyard this long and I never knew! It seriously looks as though it is straight out of the book Bridge to Terabithia, which brings me back to 3rd grade. A creek runs through the clearing, and the water running over the rocks makes little gurgling noises.

I set the turtle down as I sit on a rock and take my water bottle out of my bag. I realize then that I was in such a rush to get out the door that I had neglected to pack a snack. (Hiking and I have a bad history, don't we?) I check my phone. It is nearly dead. But I shrug, figuring I'll be ok. It is doubtful that I will meet calamity in the Wesleyan woods. I walk on, stopping in the clearing by the cabin to read for a bit with the turtle, who peeps his head out only a few times. Then I pick another path, walk down, and walk on, on, on.

It has been over an hour now. I know where I am, and I know what direction I should be going in to get back to the path, but I realize that I have become very entangled in the path, didn't study the map and it would take so long for me to retrace my steps back that I might as well keep going. After another good 30 minutes of walking, I realize that I, indeed, do not know if I will ever emerge from the woods. I am beginning to worry that I may get low at some point and not be able to call anyone due to my dying cell phone. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
I knew that I should have thought this through better, but the beautiful summer day had beckoned to me.
I trod on and on, still enjoying the hike but acknowledging that I would be enjoying it far more if I knew how far away from the school I was. As far as I was concerned, the path appeared to have no end as it snaked past a slow-moving creek and rose to surround me with thin young pine trees.

Shoot, I think, swatting at a gnat. I am half-lost in the woods, Diabetic with no food, and I have a turtle in my hand. Taking stock of the situation I press onward, certain that if I go in the right direction long enough that I must emerge at some point. It takes me a while, but I finally realize where I am and, with great joy, reach the trail's end out by the MAC. I am relieved as I crouch down to set the turtle back on the ground. The poor guy was probably feeling seasick.
I can feel myself  shaking just the slightest bit, and sweat clings at my back as I struggle up the hill and finally make it back to the apartment.
I know I am low at this point, and when I test back in my room I see that I am 59. I am mad at myself but sigh with relief that I narrowly dodged a bullet. No harm done, but I'll be sure to take more care in the future.

I sure do love the outdoors, but lesson learned: I'll bring not one, but a few, snacks next time!

Playing Make-Believe.

I used to play all sorts of games when I was little. Artist, teacher, archaeologist, detective, journalist - I could go through 3 different careers in the span of a single day.
I played Doctor, too. I used to grab a mechanical pencil, push down the eraser and pull on the lead until it nearly fell out. I'd put it up to my skin then, and push the eraser down, pretending that it was a needle as I watched the lead disappear into what looked to be skin.

Pretending was a lot more fun than the real thing. I'm no Doctor, but then, I play Doctor to myself every day. 
I guess after two years it's sunk in that this will be my life for the long haul. Am I a Diabetes whiz by now? Do I have perfect BG readings all the time? No way. But after this time I do think that I am beginning to get my confidence back - my confidence in myself, that I had lost for so long since my diagnosis. There came to be a constant worry, hanging like a shadow over me. The worry waited, unnoticed at times, until I fell headfirst into the right situation. Suddenly, the questions, the second guessing, would be there again. Hitting me headfirst like a train...

Now that I have Diabetes, will I ever be able to reach my goals?
Can I even be a physical therapist having Diabetes?
Will school and Diabetes be too much to handle?
Can I come to terms with the fact that I am imperfect when it comes to treating myself?

The worry isn't gone. But I feel like I can better confront the questions now.
Having Diabetes makes things more difficult, but I don't have to let it stop me from achieving any of my goals.
Will I get discouraged? Yes.
Have my bad days? Yes.
Wonder for the millionth time why the odds of having this disease fell upon me, when statistically they shouldn't have? All the time.
I've tried for so long to be perfect when it comes to my treatment, but I can't be. I am imperfect, I am flawed, my body is messed up. But everything comes one step at a time. Wake up, test, eat, test. Repeat. Every test, every shot, every Blood Glucose log carries me forward. 

So what if I want to get a Doctorate with Diabetes? It won't stop me.
So what if my job will require being on my feet a lot? I'll adjust my insulin if I get low. 
If I want to hike a mountain? I'll bring snacks. 
Diabetes won't stand still for me, so I won't stand still for Diabetes. 

I'll keep doing what I know how to do - keep on moving forward, setting goals, and achieving them. 

Looking back now, I realize something monumental - Diabetes, for me, was the defining line in my life between childhood and adulthood. Was I mature before my diagnosis? Certainly. (Ok, well, maybe my mom doesn't think so - ha-ha.) But Diabetes gave me something else.... changed my personality, tweaked me in some small but monumental way. 
When I got Diabetes, I think I truly became an adult. I learned things about myself that some people will never get the chance to learn. I learned that I would do what it takes to survive. I learned that I would let nothing get in the way of my goals, that nothing would stop me. That if I keep my chin up and keep pushing through, that I'll surprise even myself with what I can achieve. 

And something else.....
That life isn't perfect. That happiness isn't about perfection, or how few things are going wrong. Happiness is about the little moments; 
The sun in your hair, stolen moments with the one you love, a phone call to home. A walk on a crisp fall day, the smile of a stranger, the laughter of a friend.
Cracks, glimpses, fragments of life between life; this is what happiness is about. Learning to find the joy despite the craziness, the intensity, the anxiousness. Learning to find peace despite the turmoil. 
And to treasure all of it.

Sometimes, I still feel like the little girl playing Doctor. 
Sometimes, I wish it was all make-believe. That I would wake up one morning laughing, saying, "it was all just a dream."
But it's not make-believe any more. And I've made the choice to learn, and to grow, from this experience instead. 
I can never forget my life before; unlike some Diabetics, who have suffered with this disease since toddlers, I remember with a crisp, painful clarity all that my life was and used to be. There is and always will be an ache in my soul for that life.
But though I may look back sometimes, the past will not hold me back.

I will always keep moving forward.