It’s so strange to think–I have officially had diabetes for three years today. It’s been different. I pay lots more attention to what I’m eating and how I’m feeling than I used to. I still obsessively log my food and insulin intake, although I’ve gotten a bit more lax about it all. I have no real health concerns except for persistant D deficiancy and some weird leakage at the back of my left eye. My feet don’t hurt like neuropathy anymore, and I have more energy.
I’ve gained weight. So much so that I probably could stand to lose about 50 pounds. I’m starting school again in the fall–I’m going to be going to the same school as one of my siblings (my sister just graduated high school) for the first time since the 6th grade. I have one more sister-in-law, two more nieces (the youngest was born July 15) and two more nephews (the oldest niece was about 18mo at my dx) and one less boyfriend than at dx. My oldest niece loves to watch me check my blood sugar–I’m not quite sure why . . . something about watching me bleed.
Nothing significant has changed in my personality or sense of humor–I still write, although my poetry tends toward the images of bloody fingers now.
I’m still me.
Just tireder sometimes. It’s exhausting to pay attention to the little signals my body gives me.
I wish it hadn’t happened. It wasn’t fair. But life isn’t fair. I had 31 years diabetes free, and that’s more than a lot of children have.
And I’m still me.