Old Diabetic Lacy and Now.

It's September, and I've been getting into the swing of my second year of physical therapy school. I was looking over my blog today, trying to find some inspiration to write something, and started looking across old drafts of posts I never published. It's weird to me, thinking back and realizing it's been 4 years and 5 months since becoming part of the very exclusive Diabetes Club. I live a pretty comfortable life right now. I still have insulin in the fridge, and although it's dwindling, I know it will be ok. I can even go see my Nurse Practitioner at school to write me prescriptions for insulin, which saves a little money, when I start to need it. I can get 100 test strips (albeit for the cheap meter) for $16 on amazon, and I still think that I've only gone through 4 or 5 boxes of needles and only a box or two of lancets since being diagnosed (seriously, I know it's bad but I never change those things). So I'm feeling pretty good. My Diabetes has seemed pretty tame with a comfortable 35 g of Lantus everyday to keep me from having to use as much Humalog to cover carbs and corrections, and my exercising more has helped keep my levels in check, too, so right now I'm coasting pretty easy. In fact, sometimes I even relax and don't think much about my Diabetes, which is nice. Except when I'm low. Then I still hate my body. But I look back at how far I've come, and I think I've made good progress in coping. Which is why I'm posting an old draft I never published back from years ago. To remember that though this disease is hard as ever, I've come a long way. Enjoy.

                                                                  

Diabetes is a largely invisible disease.

People see us and assume that because we look okay, because we appear to function normally, that Diabetes is not that big of a deal.

Diabetes gets downplayed because it is not cancer, it is not AIDS, it is not something you can often visibly see or tangibly touch. 

You could look at us and think, 'Hey, they look normal. Diabetes is not that bad." 

And if you do think those things, then you've got it all wrong.

Our struggles more often than not go on in silence. In the solitude of our rooms, in our beds at night, in our minds throughout the day, in the screen of a glucose meter.

We are largely silent sufferers, millions connected by the likeness that we share: The likeness of a single, life-changing disease.

Perhaps your view of Diabetes would be different if you saw what I see.

If you lived in my life, if you walked in my shoes.

If you felt the prick of a needle on your skin, or the weakness of low blood sugar, or the soreness on the tips of your fingers from all of the blood tests.

You don't see

The tears you cry in the hospital room, the ones you waited to cry until you were all alone. Because you wanted people to think that you were strong.

The discouragement you feel when your blood sugars are not where you know that they should be.

The guilt that even the simple act of eating a banana or half a sandwich, much less a caramel frappuccino or a piece of cake, can bring on.

The heartbreak you feel when your hopes and dreams go out the window when you learn of your diagnosis; When, suddenly, all of your plans must now be re-calculated, re-drawn, according to Diabetes and the limits it imposes. Which, regardless of what others might say, it does impose.

The worry you feel about the future, about the complications, about if you will lose your vision or need a kidney transplant, if you will ever be able to have kids, if you will ever live to be 100, or 70, or be alive when you wake up in the morning.
The ever-present desperate longing, the need deep inside, for a cure.
The calculator inside your head that carefully counts and then re-counts the carbs in every meal you are about to eat.
The potent, synthetic, bandaid-y plastic smell of insulin five times a day that you grow sick of.
The drastic difference between the bills and the amount of money you have to pay them.
The exhaustion of knowing that if there is never a cure, this will be your life until the day that you die.


Diabetes does not take a break. It does not call in sick for work, it does not go on vacations or take time off. If I am a safe, Diabetes is the 24-hour security guard.
And it is exhausting.
Diabetes doesn't wait for you, it doesn't ask you how you feel.
It shows no mercy, it has a cruel sense of humour.
It possesses biting sarcasm, it writes all of its own rules.
As much as Doctors claim to understand Diabetes, I often feel like there is so little known about it.

I don't know why, out of the millions, I was the one with the faulty immune system, with the faulty coding in my genes, why I was the ticking time bomb.
Doctor's can't tell me.
I don't know, if I ever choose to have children, whether or not they will have diabetes too.
No one can say. No one can predict.
I don't know why sometimes, even when I do everything right, my blood sugars will still zig zag up and down like a child's scribbles.
Diabetes is an imprecise science.
And I don't know if, even with all my hope, there will ever be a cure, a way to end this disease.

But I will never give up.
No matter what they say.
I will always have hope for a cure.
Until my dying day.
I may live with it now,
But I will never stop believing
That I will not die with diabetes.

You don't see what I see, most of you don't.
But we need our cure, too.
We need it for ourselves,
For the ones we love.
For our families, our friends, for the people we see on the streets.
For the millions of us who fight this disease every day.

How Swing Dancing Changed My Life.

It's been almost one year since I started to pick up swing dancing in Atlanta, and little did I know last fall just the depth of the impact that swing would have on my life.

My first class at Georgia Tech was a nightmare. Up until then, my only experience with dancing was ballet in 2nd grade, some gymnastics dance routine, the sad excuse for dancing in the clubs I did sometimes, and of course, my princess specialties, the chicken dance and freeze dance. 

I wasn't exactly a dancer. 

So as I struggled to even keep time to a simple six count, stumbling my feet and letting my partner spin me, I felt very discouraged that September night. 

But I decided to go back, because I was determined to learn.

I discovered Hot Jam, Atlanta's weekly East Coast Swing event held at a little cabin in Buckhead every Monday at 8:30. I went religiously with my friends Robert and Chelsea, doing my best to keep time and not trip as I shyly sat in the corner waiting for someone to offer me a dance because I was too shy to ask at the time. 

I didn't know it at the time, but right down the road from me, someone else was going to start swing dancing just a few months later. 

So I kept at it. I went as long as school would allow me, but I did end up skipping a lot of Monday's due to my schedule. I took a hiatus after October and didn't come back until the big dance in December. I had started to grow more confident, but there were only a few people that I was really comfortable dancing with. Still, I tried my hardest, and I'd made some improvements. And I never missed a tech dance - they were the best. Filled with hundreds of people in Georgia Tech's ballroom at the end of every month, it was always the best swing event every four weeks brought me. 

I took a break for Winter - I went home to Florida. In January, I found myself back there, and this time, I was deeply invested into learning how to dance. I started attending not only Monday classes, but every dance event I could get my hand on. Swing on Thursday's at Callenwolde - Zouk on Wednesdays - Contra on Friday's - and any swing event at Firefly or the Solarium in Decatur I could find on Facebook. I danced all the time, even with my swing friends as we hung out at home. And I got so much better. My confidence grew. I actually felt good at dancing. I felt free - I felt alive. It was a respite from Grad School's rigorous work, which made me feel as though I lived in a prison sometimes. Stifled and sad. Dance was different. Dance made life fun and colorful. I could even start dancing in the clubs with confidence because I learned how to keep a beat. I made a channel just for swing music on Youtube to practice at home on my study breaks. And I felt like learning to dance was one of the best decisions I had ever made.

The months passed by, and my dancing journey continued, even when I wasn't applying myself to classes as well as I should. That spring semester turned out to be a terrible struggle for me because I wasn't working hard enough. I had to cut back a little just to bring my grades around, which I'm not proud of. But I did it, and I changed, and I made it through. And now I know how to strike a good balance between school and fun. 

It wasn't until I started Summer classes and was able to wind down from a grueling semester that I made it back to swing dancing, and that is when my life suddenly fell into place.

It was a hot Summer night, and a live band was playing at Hot Jam. I had gotten into my favourite dress and put my hair up since it was a fancy dance occasion. I arrived to Hot Jam, confident as ever, asking my friends to dance (because I was comfortable with dancing now) and twirling fearlessly and joyfully across the floor. I had been doing this for all of 20 minutes when I walked over to the water fountain for a short break and a drink, and that's when I stumbled across a man in a red plaid shirt. He had a tattoo on his arm and a tattoo of a cross on his chest. I had thought I'd cut him off to get to the water fountain, and I felt bad. So I offered him a dance - and Kris Mason accepted. 

I quickly learned that Kris was new to dancing. This was only his second time here, and I hadn't been at Hot Jam the week before. I taught him what I knew, although I'll admit I'm not the best teacher at Swing. Being a follow is a lot different than being a lead.

We danced, and then I went and danced with some other people. Later I went outside because I was low and started eating my nasty Glucose tabs to try and feel better. (Getting low happened a lot when I danced, but it was a cost I considered worth it). 

Kris came out and sat with me. We started talking, and I was surprised with how easy it was to talk to him. 

We found ourselves on a first date to get coffee, and then we walked through a graveyard (we share a mutual love of strolling through cemeteries). 

And one starry night, we found ourselves exchanging our long, sad, happy, tumultuous stories. 

I hadn't been looking for anything. Kris was passionate about coffee, and was making a career in it in Atlanta. He played guitar and wrote stories and songs and liked to read. He liked Chvrches. He liked to go on adventures like me. Kris wasn't what I thought my "type" was at all. But I was proven wrong. He showed me something different than anything I'd ever had, and being with him was as easy and as natural as breathing. We just got each other. He understood me, and I understood him. He showed me what a truly good, Godly, healthy relationship looks like. And he's the most kindhearted person I've ever met. Kris will come over early even before I have to go to school just to cook me breakfast and make me coffee. He'll play me guitar songs until I fall asleep as he looks at me, eyes sparkling. He took me to the Jackson Street Bridge, our favourite place in Atlanta, one starry night, telling me to close my eyes as he picked me up and carried me there. "Open your eyes," he said, as he gently set me down, showing me a sight of the city lights that took my breath away. Kris read every single book I had and then some on Diabetes just to learn everything he needed to know to take care of me. Sometimes I think he can manage it better than I can. He does everything he can just to make me smile. We go to Church and worship together. We sing songs together in the car. Kris works all week, but every Saturday he's off, he'll drive me to my princess parties just to give me a chance to study and some good company on the way there. He'll come visit me at school just to surprise me when I get out of classes, iced coffee for me in hand. He'll cook dinner for me at home just to let me study and have some company. He will stay up with me until midnight just to let me practice my Physical Therapy class competency skills on him to give me the best chance of passing that I can. Kris is just genuinely good for me. He brightens my outlook on life and keeps me focused on school while giving me more joy than I've ever had, no matter what good or bad things are going on extraneously. 

And he's the best friend I've ever had. 

No, a year ago, this is not what I imagined swing dance would do for my life. Give me a passion I love more than anything and give me a person whom I love more than anything. But it did, and that's amazing, isn't it? It's incredible how life works out. I never expected it.

But I am so glad for it.

First of Fall.

As the first sliver of fall has begun to hint itself in the early September air, I let the breeze ruffle my hair as I count the years. Fall always makes me feel nostalgic.

It's been over four years since I moved to Georgia. This place has always been many things to me. It was my first place I ever moved to when I moved away from home. It's where Wesleyan is. It's where I got into my first car accident. It's where I got my first apartment. It's where I found new places, and slowly but surely learned how to make a place feel familiar. It's where I started my first business. Where I started Grad school. Where I learned to swing dance.

Most importantly though, Georgia has become home. Not because my family is there - not because my childhood friends are there or my childhood school - not because of all my old haunts - but because I worked hard to make it that way.
Coming up to Georgia as a teenager, I used to feel like Georgia was my respite. It was my home away from home, but it was also a place where I went to get away from Florida life. From work. From school. From the world I lived in. Over the last years, I have watched as my life has transitioned gradually. My responsibility has shifted from my old home - Florida - to Georgia, as I began school, started a business, made relationships.
My professor asked us yesterday if we would be able to move back home in a heartbeat. Drop everything, and just go. Could you? Could I?

The answer is no. I couldn't. I've built my life here now. My life here is hard, and sometimes it's a burden. But there's also a sort of comfort in the responsibility and work. There's a comfort in making things happen. Checking things off a list.
Florida is where I go as the respite now. Georgia, Atlanta, is my life.

I think back at my Macon roots and all of the time I spent there getting to know myself. Macon has been voted as one of the worst places to live in the country recently! But I think a lot of people that live there understand where I'm coming from when I say it was really just home to me, with its good and its bad and its crime and sketchy parts of town but its beautiful parts too. I loved the view of Rose Hill cemetary across the Ocmulgee River. And the first site of Macon, its glimmering lights as I approach it northbound at the start of the 475 bypass. I loved Tatnall Square Park and Mercer and Wesleyan's towering brick buildings. I loved Taste and See, the specialty coffee shop downtown, and the beautiful catholic cathedral I used to go pray at (even if I'm not Catholic), and I loved the librayr perhaps more than anything. Macon is charming it many ways. Just don't go to the bad parts. To me it had been home all of the past few years, and it had been a good home. I think of the friends I made and the battles I fought. My first time buying groceries for my dorm. The first day of cold air on October 1st, 2011 - and I wore flip flops and winter clothes because I didn't have any winter shoes. I remember my first entertainment gig - balloon twisting at Eagle's Landing country club in Stockbridge. I remember late-night visits to Joe's, sipping coffee across from Mercer as I studied for Anatomy and Physiology, O-Chem, and Physics for Wesleyan. I remember Libris the library cat at Wesleyan's library. My first work study job in admissions at Wesleyan, shyly being introduced to the staff and fumbling my way around.
It was never my childhood home, but it was something perhaps even more important - my adulthood home.

As I am thinking of all of these things, I can't help but feel a sense of old. I'm not - I'm only 21 - but I've lived a lot of life for 21 years, and my journey away from home started so long ago that I feel as though I was just a kid back then. You never think at the time about how you'll look back and gawk about how far away your life from back then seems. But as you get older, you see it happen more and more. See the gaps in your knowledge, the stupid, impulsive things you did, feel as though you were stumbling in the dark in comparison to how much more insight you have now.
In many ways, I was just a kid. I was just beginning my battles with Diabetes - I was messy, overzealous about getting my prescriptions, worried and unsure of what to do. I was sad. I felt like the world was a little out to get me. How did I handle it in class? What if I got low during an exam? There was so much that I didn't know. So much more I know now (and so much I'm aware that I still don't know). I can't believe it's gone by so quickly.

Now I'm here in the 1st of my last 2 academic semesters of Mercer before going to clinic. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it, even though a slew of competencies, exams and projects face me before I go. In just a year and a half, if all goes well, I'll have my Doctorate degree. I just take it a day at a time. Slow and steady.

It's almost my 22nd birthday, and I left for Georgia when I was 17. As the air grows colder and the days until I get another year older become closer, I am thinking of all these things. The ebb and flow of life. The good, the bad, the challenges. I'm calmer about things now. I'm more sure of what I want. I go to bed earlier. I guess I'm getting older, even though it's not something I notice while it's happening. It's crazy, isn't it? This blog is literally a testimony to these last few years of my life, and growing into an adult.
I'm glad I have that testimony, too. It's how you learn. Just so much as it's for people to read, my writing is for me, too, to look back and see how life has changed.

And to look back and see how I've changed so much, too.

Chicago!

Music wafts through the tiled halls while the wind picks up, the train nearing closer and breathing tunnel air like a giant, metal dragon. People are packed into the cars like sardines, the city life boasting a variety of business suits and briefcases, midriff cutoffs and workout clothes.

There are many things different about Chicago than Atlanta.

Still getting over the magical excitement of being on a plane for the first time in nearly 4 years, face glued to the window to my right, my first sight of one of the Great Lakes came into view and – Chicago through the windows to the left, massive and impressive and a sight to behold. I’d felt myself spoiled by the Atlanta skyline for the past year, proud of my city and the sights and sounds that it had to boast. However, even I had to admit that Chicago was bigger if not more fantastic and enchanting than Atlanta. The lake glowed an inviting blue green colour and boats dotted the water’s surface, looking like mere Barbie dolls and bath toys from the thousands of feet up above.

I could hardly contain my excitement as we touched down at O’Hare and I stepped foot on Illinois soil for the first time (uhh, kind of?). My first experience with the CTA was even more amazing. Having grown up in Florida, I had a hard time wrapping my mind around the concept of reliable public transportation. I’d just ridden the MARTA train for the first time that morning. I’d been warned that MARTA, which I had previously thought both reliable and impressive was, in fact, actually the opposite and was great if you didn’t have anywhere to go in a hurry. Saxophone tunes filled the CTA station and after climbing in a train on the “Blue Line” the doors shut and the train whizzed down the tracks East towards the city at speeds just on the cusp of being frightening. I was even more enchanted however, as the train emerged from a tunnel and sped right alongside the highway, where I could peep into the cars beside me.

The bus was a foreign concept too – having never taken a bus in my life, the dizzying options of places to go made me more confused and overwhelmed than my first day of PT school. When you wanted to get off at a stop, you pulled the string on the side of you, which rang a bell that signaled the driver to stop. The weather was windy and cool; I think I was just as amazed by my first glimpse of what prairie land looked like as I was by the sheer size of the city. Even the houses looked different, with bay windows for days and sandy colored stone and more flatness than I had seen since Orlando. And what is a White Castle, anyway?

My weeklong trip in Chicago is such a myriad of amazing foods, new sights and interesting people that it would be impossible to write it all down in one blog post. I was satisfied alone by merely riding the train, feeling a rush of anticipation as, sitting underground, the air started to shake and rumble and the cold air began to whip my hair in all different directions. And then the train would come roaring down the tunnel so fast that its screeching halt still didn’t seem like enough to make it stop in time to board. During rush hour, the trains were so packed that you literally had to sardine yourself into an already packed train, so close that you were hugged by bodies on all sides and you hid your purse close by your side.

Deep dish pizza was a nightmare on my blood sugar. Also, it took an hour to make. Also, it was amazing. I probably won’t be able to eat it for a few more years because my pancreas is still revolting, but I’ve never been one to complain about good food – it’ll just have to get over it.

While walking the streets of Wicker Park, one of the more hipster, grungy but inviting and eclectic neighborhoods of Chicago, there is a boarded up old building with a small yellow light above it. A tiny rusted door handle peeps along the side of the wood. You wouldn’t think much of it, but peel open the heavy wooden door attached to the handle and you find yourself in a dark, quiet entryway encased by thick silence and caressed by heavy velvet curtains. Push your way through the curtain to your left and you find yourself in The Violet Hour, the most intriguing bar I’ve ever visited (At 21 I realize this might not be saying much, but seriously, it’s really cool). All the chairs are made so that you can easily face whomever you’re with, and the only way to see is by the light of candles dotted around the small room.

Having a penchant for visiting pretty cemeteries, Graceland cemetery was also a beautiful visit right off the red line. Willow trees cast their leaves in green curtains gently down where they touched the blue-brown waters of a small lake; in the center, a bridge led to an island that serves as final resting place to the very architect who designed the city of Chicago.

After cashing in over 15,000 steps through the city of Chicago I found myself at Navy Pier, which was far enough outside the city’s downtown that if you look behind you and it’s nighttime, you are gifted by the most beautiful show of lights. The ferris wheel was even more incredible, as it rose above the lake and brought you closer to the glittering lights.

There were so many things to be amazed about. The water plant downtown is a castle. The trains are always on time. The public zoo in Lincoln Park is free. Swing dancing happens almost every night to the accompaniment of live jazz bands. If you happen to find yourself at the Green Mill Lounge, once said to be a favourite hangout of Al Capone, you might happen on one of these jazz bands. If you find yourself swing dancing to the music, the crowds will cheer for you into the early hours of the morning. The John Hancock building gives you an absolutely stunning view of the city. The Chicago dogs are the best hot dogs I’ve ever had. Chinatown has the best Pho. People give away pizza on the subways. Musicians fill the train stations with music; flutes, violins and saxaphones. Jewel Osco grocery stores sell liquor, which is truly a marvel after coming from the South.

I couldn’t have asked for a better break away from school as I approach second year. Sure, Chicago had some downsides; 7 months of winter, no carrying guns (I love my gun, not a redneck), and I gas was a staggering $3.99. As I arrive back in Atlanta today, I find myself happy to be back in a place that has finally come to feel like home, even if it means having to wake up at 6 (I say 6 but I actually mean 7) tomorrow morning.

Still, I can’t wait to visit again. I’m going to miss good public transportation, especially as I fight the long lines of traffic to get to school tomorrow. 

Long Time Coming

Atlanta whispers softly to me throughout my days here.
I see it when I leave Kroger and walk back to my car - the skyscrapers of Buckhead surround me, glimmering in the sunlight.
Just now, the evening sun sets and the clouds take on a dreamy glow, providing a backdrop to the famous Bank of America tower.
The brick walls hold stories, the graffiti on the bridges a colorful mural that claim the city as their own.

And I - I am in the midst of it all. Of the hustle and bustle that used to seem so foreign to me; of the crowds and the noise that I once feared to live in.
But I don't fear it anymore - I embrace it, and I couldn't imagine life anywhere else right now. This is, wholeheartedly, the place I desire to be. Atlanta keeps me inside of its skyscraper palace, the walls of the perimeter encircle me in a bubble that I don't even have to leave if I don't want to.
And Atlanta has changed me. I feel myself becoming more confident, more mature and sure of the things I want. Full of greater understanding of responsibility and what it is to work hard and get things done. I'm learning, slowly, I'm growing.

Almost a year here, and I've never lived in a place that feels more like home. I see my friends as I go to school each day, the hallway with our lockers now familiar, the green walls, the plinths that serve as our desks and the endless class jokes. It feels like family.

I drive with confidence through the traffic, streaming to the other side of the interstate like a pro as I sing along to new songs, music that I might go hear at Eddie's Attic or The Masquerade or The Vinyl. I rarely go to chains to eat or get coffee; there's so many new and unique places here, and too little time with too many things to try. I feel at home when I come home and place my backpack down in my little room with the sloped walls and the paintings hanging just above me.

Life is a hectic, busy mess. Grad school takes up so much time. But I love it here, and for the first time in a long time, I know exactly who I am and who I want to be.
I think 17 year old me would be proud. Unsure, scared, upset and just-diagnosed with Diabetes 17 year old me, mad at the world and worried about everything to come, grasping for comfort at every outcropping of life I could find.
I started a great adventure 4 years ago the day I left home for Georgia, and the adventure has never stopped since.
I can't help but be thankful, because my learning to be me, to be at peace with this life I live, has been a long time coming.

Retinopathy, Neuropathy, Diabetes, Oh my

Retinopathy.
Neuropathy. Decreased healing. Increased risk of infection. Slowed healing times. Adhesive Capsulitis. Immune System changes. PVD. Alzheimer's. Skin changes.

It's another day in class, and we are talking about Diabetes and its rainbow of complications. It's a favourite topic of the health field, and I'm fairly used to it by now. Even the part where the professor says "Raise your hand if you know someone with Diabetes" and everyone in class raises their hand - or, "raise your hand if you know someone with Diabetes aside from Lacy" (and still nearly all of the hands go up).

Diabetes is a big deal. The rates are increasing year by year, in both the younger and older population. I hate having Diabetes, and as much as I would like to say that managing it has become vastly easier over these past 4 years, it seems like it's still as much of a daily struggle as always.
But sometimes I am thankful because it helps me to relate to a lot of people that struggle with this disease also. I remember back a couple of weeks ago, one of my first times volunteering with a group of geriatric individuals with my class to provide an exercise program.
One of the patients I was taking vitals for was mentioning her Diabetes, and how she didn't like getting low, especially after eating Dinner. "I'm already full," she's saying to me. "I don't want to eat again right after!"
"Well, have you tried glucose tabs?" I asked her. She responded with a "Well, yes... but I don't think they really work for me. I take one and it doesn't do anything!"

I thought for a second. "You're eating just one when you're low? You have to eat 4! They're 4g/carbs each. You need about 15g/carbs to raise yourself up from a low."
"Oooooooh. Really?! My Doctor never told me that... ugh, how frustrating!" The patient explained. "It's ok," I told her. "I have Diabetes too. I know it's frustrating. But you should try 4 instead. It helps!"

We had a long conversation about Diabetes from then on, and like many times before it was almost a bonding experience. I've had this before; working with patients, I always wonder if it's ok to bring up my Diabetes, especially if they're struggling with it, too. Sometimes I feel self conscious. I want my interactions with patients to be all about them and the last thing I want to do is turn it around to myself. But I feel it helps me to relate with a patient if I mention that I am Diabetic and they are, too. Suddenly I'm not just a health care professional; I'm someone who lives and breathes and understands the same kind of struggle, even just a little of a fraction of that piece of struggling, with someone. Personally, I feel as though it helps me relate to patients. I remember sitting sad in the hospital, casually and bitterly throwing aside all of the advice that people decided to throw my way. No one had Diabetes, they didn't understand.

But then Marie walked in, calm and cool and beautiful and collected. She pulled out an insulin pen, flashing her stylish and personally engraved medical ID bracelet and showed me how much better it was than syringes and vials. Told me I had an endocrinologist appointment with her across the street when I got out of the hospital. And more importantly, gave me a sliver of hope; hope that my life could be normal, hope that I could be like her. Even with Diabetes. If she could be like that, so could I.

In that case, having someone relate to me made all the difference in the world. It makes me feel better: makes me feel that I was diagnosed with this disease for a purpose. Maybe that's silly; maybe it's just a twisted coping mechanism for trying to justify why I live this life with this disease every day.

But regardless, I know this:
When we're sitting in integumentary class and I'm up on the table, shoes off and about to have a diabetic neuropathy/foot screen exam because that's what we're practicing every day, and my heart has a slight twinge of fear; there's the slim chance, what if? What would I do? 
And the talking about losing feet sensation really gets to me; it makes it worth it. I'm not in this struggle for nothing.

And having a foot screen that comes up as "low/no risk" for foot loss sensation makes me feel even better, that I'll be able to stay healthy to someday better help other people like me. Maybe one day I'll be the one going into the hospital room, and there will be a girl just diagnosed with Diabetes there, feeling quite alone and upset and angry at the world; maybe she'll feel like no one understands. Maybe I can help. Who knows?

Full Circle.

As my journey in Atlanta has nearly come full circle now; August is nearly here; I can't help but start to feel sentimental. I think about last year and how different life was, how worried I was to leave the life I had built for so long behind. I remember one night in July before I had moved into my new place in Atlanta, taking an exit off the interstate to what would be my future neighborhood and just driving around. I stopped and exhaled as one particularly pretty view came into my sight: the city lights, big and bright and beautiful, sparkling like stars in the soft glow of the summer evening.

For the first time that July night, I felt excitement for the life that I would have. I felt excitement for the change, for the big city that would grow to be my home. Atlanta was so full of mysteries and secrets. So full of life and colour. I remembered being just a 17 year old girl, excited for Wesleyan and my big move to Georgia. It was my first move away from home, and it was out of state. I would be on my own, free to make my choices and my own mistakes.

And one August day I woke up, the life I had lived for 4 years packed around me in my now-empty apartment, filled with boxes and rolls of tape and bubble wrap. I had slept for the last night on the silver daybed that I had had since 4th grade, that was going to a woman whom I had sold the bed to on Craigslist just the day before.
Over 3 back and forth trips to Atlanta later over the course of the next two days, everything was settled and all that remained was unpacking. The first thing I did, as always, was hang my collection of acrylic paintings - paintings I had made over the years, and pictures, of all of my friends and families and past events. I laid on my newly made bed and stared at the high, white sloped ceiling illuminated by the glow of my tall paper Ikea lamp. There were no glow in the dark stars, no Christmas lights, no pillows on the floor; I guess I was an adult now, with adult decorations and adult things and a pile of textbooks for school in August almost to my knees (that had cost as much as my first month's rent).

And just like that, Atlanta changed from just a place that I drove to on the weekend for work to home.
The city skyscrapers become comforting. The lights as I drove down 85/75 at night were as picturesque as canvas. Piedmont Park became a refuge from the busy cars and miles of sidewalks and pavement stretched before me. Little coffee shops became my secret places; made Atlanta feel more like home. I marveled as even the grocery store customers seemed to walk faster; the pace here wasn't southern mosey-ing, but rather, go, go, go. The graffiti plastered buildings walls and bridges like my own personal museum. The sounds of the city and the cars rushing by and the sirens sung me to sleep at night. I found my special places, favourite restaurants - Argosy, the Vortex, Bound to Be Read, the Beltline, Inman Park (and Perk).
As the year progressed, I watched the list grow even longer. I picked up Swing Dancing for the first time as I attended my first Georgia Tech Dance Association Dance. Discovered swing's weekly Monday dance - Hot Jam - as well as Friday night Contra in Clarkston. Sweet Hut and Lee's Bakery in the Asian section of Doraville (pho!) Rock climbing at Stone Summit's incredible gym. The Vortex's The Bone Garden, countless coffee shops: Dancing Goats, Dr. Bombay's, Octane. I actually went to the Westside (and liked it).

And more importantly, the reason I came here, I've grown since starting Mercer. It's been a whirlwind year of sleepless nights and endless struggles and working until I could work no more. From being up sunup to sundown at the same building in the same classroom with the green walls and two pillars as we studiously learned new skills, dissected cadavers, tried to slow the flow of the firehose of information to make it more manageable (and usually failing). Growth is hard. I learned about sacrifice and how much harder I had to work than I ever had in undergrad.
This next year will be ever more filled with changes. As my class and I complete the last two semesters of the academic portion of our PT program and go to clinic starting next Summer, I will be one step closer to my goal of becoming a PT. It's been a hard academic year, but an amazing one of fellowship and glorious new friendships and relationships. My heart is so full of all the incredible new things I have experienced in just one year, the richness and the colour of the city around me.

 The fear of moving to a new place is all but a distant memory now. God had had everything for this year planned all along - all I had had to do was make the leap.