Skip to content

Caring Hard

March 26, 2015

I remember sitting in a living room after a terrible diabetes weekend trying to find a solution to the worst glucoaster in memory. I remember going through my meter and trying to explain it to a friend. I remember telling him about twitter and the blog and the friends I had made and never met. I then explained how I wanted to keep these two parts of my life separate. I remember the day this friendship ended and booking my flight to meet my first twitter friend. 

I remember the day and reason I started my blog. I remember finding blogs and loving the creativity of various names. I remember wanting to share this world with my best friend. No matter how many ways I explained, it never seemed to matter. We had so much in common, but the intensity with which diabetes could come in, and the need for understanding never made sense. I remember feeling completely deflated. How would anyone without diabetes ever understand all of me? 

I met these new people with no expectations. I had tried so many different ways to meet people and nothing worked. Kickball, volleyball, watercolor class, etc. Everyone was nice, but no one was looking for friends. So I tried to hide the biggest part of me. (Biggest is not the right word, important isn’t either, but needs-to-be-paid-attention-to is.) Experience had proved that people don’t care. The only people who cared were other people with diabetes (family excluded). And then it happened. My low beyond low, scared of myself and scared for my safety low. They had to know. And yet, they already did. There were pertinent questions and observations and brief comments about the blog. (What?!) How and why were there people who care? And where had they been hiding? There are so many times diabetes briefly comes up in conversation, as though it’s like we’re mentioning the color shirt I’m wearing. But if I bring it up as a deeper topic, they sit and listen. Or if they are about to ask a question and I say “I can’t talk about it yet,” there is so much respect that we literally drop it. Or if we have conversations about weird things that are wrong or different  about each of our bodies, and I say “broken organ” and that doesn’t count. A piece of me wanted to yell “how doesn’t that count?!” and the other part me stood there stunned that I am viewed as unbroken. They’re the ones who ask the deep questions and want to understand more. And who I taught to use the glucagon. Because god forbid that needs to be used, someone needs to know. And who to tell my phone to call if help is needed, but not parental help and not 9-1-1. I didn’t know people could care this much. Lies. I did as a child. I didn’t know people in my adult life could care this hard. 

No comments yet

I'd love to hear what you think about my blog thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: