This post is for Day 2 of the Second Annual Diabetes Blog Week. Today’s prompt: write a letter to diabetes if you’d like, but we can also take it one step further. How about writing a letter to a fictional (or not so fictional) endocrinologist telling the doctor what you love (or not) about them. How about a letter to a pretend (or again, not so pretend) meter or pump company telling them of the device of your dreams? Maybe you’d like to write a letter to your child with diabetes. Or a letter from your adult self to the d-child you were. Whomever you choose as a recipient, today is the day to tell them what you are feeling.
Dear Entire Body Besides My Pancreas,
Don’t get any ideas. Please.
I know we’ve had a rough go these last twenty years, but I’m writing this to let you know that I believe in you. Slack-ass pancreas may have thrown in the towel, but as long as you don’t, we will survive. I think.
Fingertips: Most people probably underestimate you as a major body part, but as a person with diabetes, I feel like we have a much closer relationship. I can’t look at you without seeing calluses and dozens of tiny brown dots. And every few hours, you’re there to give up a few fresh drops of testable blood. Thanks for that.
Eyeballs: I swear to God I’ll schedule my annual appointment tomorrow. Really. I appreciate all you’ve done to stay intact and functioning and diabetes-resistant all these years, and I hope we can continue our friendship. If it helps out at all, I can try to look at more attractive and exciting things on a regular basis.
Feets: Oh, trusted feets. Two more allies in my battle to feel normal. I hope you don’t mind that I subject you to the scrubbing, lotioning, flip-flopping and nail-painting we’ve endured throughout the years, but it all means a lot to me. I promise to keep exposing you to the glorious Florida sunshine, as long as you agree to stay attached to me.
Heart: Dude, you’ve braved the worst of it, and you’re the last one I would have expected. I’m sorry. My cholesterol is low, my blood pressure is more than wonderful, my arteries are crystal-freaking-clear, and I thought everything was cool. Sadly, no. Diabetic cardiomyopathy had to show up and ruin everything, despite our best efforts. I’ve looked this shit up online and I confess that I have no idea what actually causes it. It just seems like a bunch of terrible factors that all stem from Mr. Pancreas crapping out early. I beg of you, don’t follow his lead.
Kidneys: What’s up? Remember in college when y’all produced too much protein, and I flew into diabetes control-freak mode to try to put a stop to it all? It kind of worked, didn’t it? For that I thank you, kidneys. Let’s try to keep all that nonsense out of the specimen cup for the forseeable future.
Guts: I’ve long lived in fear of developing gastroparesis, and for now, I think we’re cool. I promise to try to keep things regular as long as you do, too.
Pancreas: I’m sorry. I know you wanted to try, and no one knows what happened, especially not me. Maybe one day.
Parts of my immune system that screwed everything up: With all due respect, fuck you.