At 49 years old there couldn’t have been a more pronounced time when I needed my mommy most, but at 80 years old she was suffering through her umpteenth battle with cancer and a complicated surgery. Somehow it didn’t feel right to burden her with my diagnosis. So there I was, just shy of turning 50, with a life-changing, devastating diagnosis of Type I Diabetes and without my mother to console me. No one can feel your pain or offer support in times of crisis like a mother. As a mother of 2 boys myself who have been afflicted with food allergies, Celiac disease, ADHD and Asperger’s I was no stranger to offering comfort. I’m just not accustomed to receiving it. I’ve always been strong, emotionally strong I mean. There was no time for self-pity, for sadness for failure. Failure meant death. My friends and family offered support and kindness but no one can really understand the depth of fatigue and fear the disease brings. The persistent need to monitor my blood sugar and account for every scrap of food takes its toll; it’s exhausting.
Ultimately I made a new best friend, my Dexcom CGM. I go low in the middle of the night, more often than I should, and definitely more often than I like. It’s always there for me and I’m thankful for my little pink receiver that wakes me up and shouts EAT SUGAR, figuratively of course. I’m doing great: still exercising a ton, eating healthy, and living life. My purse is heavier, the TSA screening takes longer and everyone has seen my muffin top when I inject in a restaurant. Despite all that I’m in control. I’m winning. Diabetes doesn’t control me.