Happy d-day to me
Yesterday was the anniversary of my diagnosis as a diabetic. Three years into it, I can confirm that the people who told me the first part would be easy, were right. As it turns out, it really was easier, way back in the beginning when I was still terrified of instant amputation and/or death, to do all the things I should be doing to stay healthy. The hard part is sticking to the changes over the long haul.
That's the part I'm starting to face up to now. Most days I still do OK. I exercise every day, though not always as intensely as I could. I eat OK, except when I don't. My habits are still light years better than they were at diagnosis, but I have to admit – I've kind of slacked off. Mostly, I've been so occupied with anxiety control that I haven't paid as much attention to some of the other things I need to be doing. On the other hand, all of these activities work together, and when my anxiety is under control my blood sugars are always better too.
Today was the first time in as long as I can remember that I had absolutely no anxiety first thing in the morning. I actually felt pretty good – calm, alert, looking forward to the day. The fact that this is noteworthy says a lot about what's come to feel "normal" for me. Blood sugar was 109 – a bit high, but not terrible.
I'm not sure when this blog started turning into a chronicle of my illnesses, and I'm not sure I like it. That's kind of what chronic illness is like for me, though. It makes my life feel very small, in comparison to the immensity of the symptoms that define it. Yeah, define. I'm all in favor of the empowering language promoted by support communities that proclaim "I am not my illness!" – but sometimes it seems like a pointless thing to say. A person standing in the middle of a burning building can remind herself all day long that she is a woman, an artist, a writer, a friend, a bicycle rider, a gardener – "I am not this burning building!" – and who would argue? Of course she's still all of those things. But it's pretty hard to develop or enjoy any of those other facets of your personality until you've gotten yourself out of that building. Or put the fire out.
The other side of it is that spiritual metaphor having to do with learning to sit in the midst of the flames without trying to escape ... or dance in them, or whatever. Practice like your hair's on fire, et cetera. There are different versions.
In any case, right now, in many various ways, I'm still dealing with the burning building situation. I haven't forgotten who I am though, and I hope someday to have something interesting to say again.
That's the part I'm starting to face up to now. Most days I still do OK. I exercise every day, though not always as intensely as I could. I eat OK, except when I don't. My habits are still light years better than they were at diagnosis, but I have to admit – I've kind of slacked off. Mostly, I've been so occupied with anxiety control that I haven't paid as much attention to some of the other things I need to be doing. On the other hand, all of these activities work together, and when my anxiety is under control my blood sugars are always better too.
Today was the first time in as long as I can remember that I had absolutely no anxiety first thing in the morning. I actually felt pretty good – calm, alert, looking forward to the day. The fact that this is noteworthy says a lot about what's come to feel "normal" for me. Blood sugar was 109 – a bit high, but not terrible.
I'm not sure when this blog started turning into a chronicle of my illnesses, and I'm not sure I like it. That's kind of what chronic illness is like for me, though. It makes my life feel very small, in comparison to the immensity of the symptoms that define it. Yeah, define. I'm all in favor of the empowering language promoted by support communities that proclaim "I am not my illness!" – but sometimes it seems like a pointless thing to say. A person standing in the middle of a burning building can remind herself all day long that she is a woman, an artist, a writer, a friend, a bicycle rider, a gardener – "I am not this burning building!" – and who would argue? Of course she's still all of those things. But it's pretty hard to develop or enjoy any of those other facets of your personality until you've gotten yourself out of that building. Or put the fire out.
The other side of it is that spiritual metaphor having to do with learning to sit in the midst of the flames without trying to escape ... or dance in them, or whatever. Practice like your hair's on fire, et cetera. There are different versions.
In any case, right now, in many various ways, I'm still dealing with the burning building situation. I haven't forgotten who I am though, and I hope someday to have something interesting to say again.
1 Comments:
tina, you're the best writer ever.
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