Saturday, January 31, 2015

Two Year Diaversary

It's been about a month since I last blogged. I know, it's sad . . . I feel badly, but I haven't had the "urge" to sit down and mull through all of my thoughts/ emotions. 

However, now, I feel that it might be an appropriate time to blog.

It has been two years . . . I know that every time we have a diaversary I say this: "Wow, 2 years feels like 20!". I repeat this statement, because it seems the best way to summarize an ocean of thoughts. Yet this time I won't stop here. Let's take a look at why 2 years feels like 20 . . . in pond form. ;) 

First of all, diabetes is a disease. 

I know right? Pretty obvious. The interesting thing is, it isn't all that obvious. It is easy to begin viewing this autoimmune, chronic disease as a temporary sickness - a sickness that will be gone in a few days, a few weeks, a few months . . . I think that's just one reality that I keep missing: It's not going away. 

Internally, I seem to wait for that moment . . . the moment when I wake up- and Type One is gone. When my life is back to simple. When I'm not constantly trying to be a "move ahead". When I'm not dealing with the constant side effects of a disease that easily distorts even the simplest of tasks. 
(I could easily expound here, but I'll move on) 

Second, diabetes is a constant re-addressing of problems.
Whether the problems are old or new, hard or easy, complex or simple . . . they have become commonplace. Every day we address these same things. Yes, you get better! Yes, you get stronger! Yes, you learn to depend on God rather than yourself! These are essential parts of adapting to this disease, but please understand that doesn't make it easy. Addressing a blood sugar of 50 still makes your heart race. Dealing with a blood sugar of 420 still zaps your mind and body. Working around the clock to compensate for a disease-ridden pancreas still drains your emotions. 

Finally, it hurts. Another obvious thought, perhaps. 
Yet again, there is still more to this simple statement. By "it hurts," I mean this disease wears down. It is an emotionless, careless, painful disease that never gives a break. It doesn't come in spurts. There are no good streaks. I feel this idea is perceived by many to be a fact. Let's stop for a moment and evaluate this statement. In order for a "good streak" to be possible, one would expect less problems. But is that really possible? 

To me, this isn't really about a good streak, it's about survival. Though I get to see great blood sugars, that doesn't mean the reality of this disease stops. A blood sugar can drastically change within thirty minutes! Just because a number "looks great" doesn't mean that problems are insignificant. I hope this makes sense: it is so important. Many times I have talked to other families that fight T1D, and many many times they repeat this fact. Maybe the easy explanation is this: blood sugars are not a grading scale; they are a map. Just because this week was a bad week does not mean that next week will be better. There is nothing definite with Type One. It's not that simple .... ever. 

So how do I conclude? How do I explain a disease that has completely overturned my family's and millions of other T1D family's lives? How do I sum up two years of adjustment and pain?

I would certainly say this: I don't have all the answers. And frankly, I have yet to meet anyone who does. I don't fully understand why this has to be so painful, but again, I haven't met anyone who does. I don't know what the following years of T1 hold and yet again, I haven't met anyone who does. 

So simply here's what I do know. I know that strength is found in the love and support of family and friends. I know that security is held by the only One who understands this disease, and my future: God. And I know that everything will be all right. Yes this wasn't the most "upbeat" post I have written. But it is honest . . . that's just one cool part about writing my thoughts now. 

A few months, years, decades from now

I'll look back and reminisce on where I have been...

and where I have gone.