10. It’s so damn expensive to manage type 1 diabetes. Between co-pays for treatments/tests/prescriptions/supplies that is actually covered by insurance, and paying 100% for all of those things that are not covered by my insurance, not to mention anything non-medical that wouldn’t be covered by insurance (like exercise classes, exercise equipment, continuing care education, stress relieving activities, etc…) I’d probably have an extra $10,000/year if you (D) weren’t around. Bleh.
9. You demand too much attention. To “manage” you well, D, I have to think about you all. the. time. I spent a lot of years not thinking about you very much, with BGs and HbA1C levels that showed it. Now I want to manage you well–take good care of myself–and that takes constant attention to you. You’re spoiled and whiny.
8. You’re too much all about “no.” It’s not in my nature to think “No, I can’t have that. No, I can’t do that. No, I can’t eat that.” But that’s what you’re constantly yammering in my ear. And it took far too many years for me to figure out how to work around that, to empower myself to find solutions, ways that I can have things and do things and eat the things I would like to. But the fact remains, a lot of the time, I can’t do what I’d like to do: travel with just a wallet, keys and clothes; go outside and walk/run/hike without an arsenal of d-supplies; eat only when I’m hungry and exactly how much I feel like eating; tear off my clothes and have sex without thinking about the pieces of equipment hanging on my body; and on and on…
7. You hurt us, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. All the time.
6. You never take a break. Supposedly there was a “honeymoon,” although I never experienced it. After almost 31 years, I would think you’d need a vacation. I sure as hell do.
5. You get in the way. I’m always dropping something you require: meter, pump, CGM, various d-garbage, poker, test strips, juice boxes, flash drive w/ my logs on them, carb counting book…good grief. You’re everywhere, all the time.
4. You’ve given me rotten body image, messed with my head not only about the way I look but about ways I can improve how I look without hurting myself. I could have been a woman who automatically thinks good things about her body and the way it looks. In addition to the harmful messages all girls and women get about our bodies, you added on yet another complex level of hatred and harm. Awesome.
3. You completely fucked up my relationship with food for 30 years. I’ve barely started recovering from that, and am finally able to think of food as just what it is–fuel with specific numbers attached to it (carbs/fat/calories), which will influence other numbers in my body (BG, CGM, bolus rates, basal rates, time spent exercising, pounds of weight). Even though I asked for them for many years, none of my endos or primary care docs could refer me to a shrink or counselor who specialized in food and body image issues for girls/women with type 1 diabetes. They didn’t know of any. I finally feel like I’m doing much better, but seriously, no thanks to you.
2. You cause my partner, my 5 y.o. daughter, my parents, my brother, and my good friends a lot of concern, all the time. It’s exhausting for them too. Bad enough you’re always on my case, but why can’t you stop getting in my loved ones faces? You being around reminds me that I’m not like them, that there’s something wrong with my body, that there’s a part of me that will always need help.
1. I can’t control you, no matter how hard I try. Even with much “better” numbers like BG, HbA1c, and weight, you come right out with a whack to my head at any random time. There’s the 32 mg/dl that I don’t even notice that without CGM could do really bad; the 65 mg/dl that feels like I’m spinning right round and can’t realize that the juice in my hand needs to get into my mouth; and the 160 mg/dl that given my new, tighter management, feels like my blood is concrete and I’ve been run over by a truck. Never mind the random 257 mg/dl for no. good. reason. Like, I didn’t eat anything and my pump site is fine and all batteries are working and I’m not that stressed (or wasn’t, before the 257 came along). I do my best every day, and you will not be controlled or submit to me, as you very well should if you had any decent manners at all. Might as well call you Voldemort.
In the immortal and so satisfying words of Kathy Griffin: Suck it, Diabetes.