Diabetic Complications

Ideally, my blood sugars should be between 80 and 110. Today, I woke up at 204. Okay, that could have been worse, but still discouraging since I had been fasting for nearly 10 hours. I took insulin. Drank my coffee. Went to work.  I ran around the store and did tons of work. At lunch I was 168. I ate a pork chop and broccoli for lunch. Took insulin. When I got home, my blood sugar was 406. There is nothing more discouraging than doing everything you’re supposed to, only to fail.

“You look like you’ve lost a lot of weight.” My coworker commented. 

“Because I have. Diabetic complications.” 

She nodded and didn’t ask further. 

The hard part about people noticing my weight loss, is they think I look good. And I admit even to myself, that being is thin feels good to a point. I feel like I look sexy and pretty. I’ve lost almost 30 pounds since I began working there. Most of it in the last few months. My mom even commented about it. 

“You look so cute and skinny. Wish I was cute and skinny like you.” 

I told her why I was skinny. 

“Wish I could lose weight like that with my diabetes.” 

I could have flipped the table over onto her and pelted her with every glass, knife, fork, and plate on it. How dare you! My mind screamed, but I held it all in. I ignored her foolish talk. Like I ignore all the other ignorant comments about my illness. All the incorrect diabetes jokes on tv and in media. All the commentary people have and advice on how I can be cured if I just do or try such and such. I ignored all of it, but today, when I had done so well and did everything I thought I was supposed to…it all rushed into my brain and made me feel more discouraged than I ever have. 

I’m trying to use that anger in me to fuel my desire to keep trying, instead of giving up like usual. I’m trying to be good. Trying to make sure I don’t die young. Trying to at least maintain my weight. Trying to stay healthy for myself, my family, my friends, my fiancĂ©. But still, when I try and fail like this I get so discouraged. It makes all the time, effort, money, vitamins, insulin, thyroid meds, and my sanity all feel worthless. Because if doing everything I’m supposed to isn’t good enough…then what is? 

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