Dear Diabetes,
As we approach our 17th year together, I can’t help but reflect on our tumultuous journey. It feels like just yesterday when you rudely barged into my life, uninvited and unwelcomed! I was only just a teenager back then, blissfully unaware of the storm you were about to unleash within me and my life.
I remember those weeks leading up to our first encounter –
- the unquenchable thirst
- the relentless exhaustion
- the surprising weight loss
- the sudden onset of blurred vision (just to name a few)
To be honest, shedding a few pounds felt like a bonus, but when I lost 10 pounds in a single week, even I realized this was a bit concerning…
February 2006
I remember feeling incredibly excited about the upcoming high-school SweetHearts dance as my dad drove me to our doctor’s appointment that day. Little did I know, that life was about to take a very unexpected turn.
When the nurse finally called us back, I detailed all of my symptoms to her. The doctor’s expression gave nothing away as she explained that we’d need to get a tiny blood sample to test my “blood sugar.”
Fear gnawed at me because of my immense phobia of needles… but fortunately, the quick prick of my fingertip was less painful than anticipated! Within a matter of seconds, the little device beeped and displayed a number: 675.
“Is that… good?“ I asked cluelessly.
She replied sternly, “The normal range is between 70-150,”
“You must be taken straight to the hospital, immediately.”
I struggled to fully comprehend the urgency, but panic crept in nevertheless. I didn’t feel sick, just inconvenienced. Why the immediate rush to the hospital? I assumed I’d be back in my cozy bedroom in no time after a quick fix. Little did I know, our journey together had only just begun…
My assumptions were shattered. You, diabetes, had stolen my whole life that day. You plunged me into a dark abyss, leaving me confused and broken. What had I done to deserve this? You robbed me of my freedom and chained me to your relentless demands of needles, pricks, and constant blood sugar monitoring.
Within a mere 24 hours, you had managed to drain the life from me. I began seriously questioning the purpose of my presence. You got what you wanted, diabetes – a body under your total control. You conquered me and left me feeling so utterly defeated, so hopelessly lost, and so painfully alone.
Now a prisoner in my own body, I lay on that hospital bed for over a week, completely numb and detached from reality. Unable to dream of the future because as far as I could imagine – it no longer existed.
Anxiety overwhelmed me as my deep-seated fear of needles continued to haunt and torment me. Tears welled up in response to the doctor’s explanation of how it was now, “Time for you to administer an insulin injection all on your own.”
[How on EARTH was I supposed to leave this place GIVING myself injections when I could hardly handle GETTING them in the first place??]
My mother, who never once left my bedside, was my greatest support, a guiding light, and my rock during those dark days. Before the doctor could finish his instructions for my self-injection, she courageously intervened and requested a saline solution to inject into her own arm.
She was aware of how afraid I was and wanted to demonstrate to me that there was nothing to fear. Her bravery and love infused me with a newfound strength, showing me that if she could do it, so could I.
Despite her enduring strength and optimism, I remember one early morning when I awoke to the sound of her weeping uncontrollably during a phone call with a family member. My heart aches every time I recall that morning. I can vividly call to mind her attempts to stifle her sobs as much as possible, while under the assumption that I was still sound asleep.
The emotional turmoil you, Diabetes, inflicted upon her was evident. I realized that you hadn’t only robbed me, but you’d stolen a piece of her too; causing her to feel guilt-ridden as if she were somehow responsible for my plight. This moment of revelation left me with the only viable option – to construct a protective barrier around us.
I vowed that no one outside would ever have to endure pain because of your existence. With determination and the belief that I could tackle this battle solo, I started wearing various masks to conceal you. The most frequent was the ever-smiling, ever-laughing facade, even though beneath it, I was battling pain and harboring a desire to end my suffering altogether.
Over the course of many years, I created a significant distance between myself and you, Diabetes, as though I was dissociating from our entanglement. It wasn’t until recently that a new friend’s curiosity prompted me to share what it’s truly like to live with you.
In the minutes that followed, I somehow managed to shed the armor of my emotional defenses and let down the barricade that surrounded us for all these years. An unexpected wave of emotions flooded over me as I broke down inconsolably. For the first time since my diagnosis, I allowed all my hidden pain and dark truths to resurface, granting them total freedom of expression.
During that vulnerable conversation, a tremendous weight seemingly lifted from my body, suddenly allowing me to breathe with ease. It was through this expansive and liberating experience that I came to fully understand the power of surrender.
What I learned, was that it’s okay to be weak, to be tired, to suffer. Humans are not designed to be strong all the time. Strength exists in tandem with moments of weakness and pain. Without the darkness, we cannot fully appreciate or comprehend the light.
Therefore, Diabetes, you may have taken control of my body that day, but you could never strip away my faith, hope, or perseverance. What I’ve discovered is the power of embracing vulnerability and weaknesses, because ironically – they are my greatest strengths.
From now on, I choose to share our journey with others to assure them that they are not alone in this battle. Together with love and resilience, we will all continue navigating your demanding challenges and rise up victorious on the other side.
With “Sweet” Regards,
Maisha Marie
Maisha is a Life Coach and the founder of Altruism Prism, a blog where she shares her faith journey and experiences living with Type 1 diabetes. She is passionate about inspiring others to live authentically and spread kindness and compassion to everyone they meet.