In a way, I should have seen it coming.

My mother was diagnosed almost 15 yesars ago, so D and I were very well-acquainted. Our family had visited Mom in the hospital, talked to the nurses, and gone to the support group meetings. When my brother received his diagnosis, it wasn’t that big of a deal. We already knew what a D diagnosis entailed. We were used to it.

I knew the symptoms. I’ve lived in the same household as D for as long as I can remember! So why did I not notice how fast I was losing weight? How did I miss the endless bathroom trips and the 4-5 glasses of water I just HAD to have at dinner? My diagnosis hit me like a tractor trailer — diabetes? How? Why? What am I going to do?!

That night I came home and told Mom I couldn’t read the road signs, I saw the look in her eyes. She knew. “Come here, let’s test your sugar.” (We all got our BG tested whenever we felt really bad. You can never be too careful.) The beep of the meter a few seconds later was all the confirmation we needed: 395. It had been 2 hours since my last meal. I was screwed.

Some days, I feel very sad. Other days, I feel angry. I accept the I have the Big D. I'[m not over it, not by a long shot. I feel like that’s going to continue to be a work in progress. At times, I do wish that I had taken more time to enjoy my life before D, but I wonder what I will accomplish and learn as I live with and (maybe) grow to appreciate and love my disease.


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