"The Talk"

Or, how to introduce people to your diabetes. Specifically, people you are dating.

I recently had to give "the talk" to someone, and I was embarrassed at how embarrassed I sounded. For all my reasonable discussion with my students and contemplation on this here blog, I blushed and stuttered and made light of everything.

I skimmed details, I made everything sound like "no big deal." Because it's not. But also, it totally is. And it doesn't get in my way and yet it does all the time. More like, it gets in my way but it certainly doesn't stop me from going forward. And I want the person I'm spending time with to understand that a sticky high blood sugar doesn't feel good and it might make me cranky, and tired, and yet it's also not life threatening. I'm embarrassed and unhappy about it, but there's no need to worry, unless there's a lot of them happening and maybe I'm not taking care of myself the way I should and maybe then they do worry. I want them to understand that a low blood sugar is something I can generally handle on my own, but sometimes I need a break afterwards. And they might have to push me into that. That three short buzzes means, lower than I'd like but I'm fine, and 4 buzzes means, check in with me, and that two buzzes means, I don't even want to stop and talk about it.

I'd like them to know that I was sick, really sick, and sad, really sad, before I was diagnosed. That it was scary, and it's changed me, and I no longer feel optimistic and trusting and confident in quite the same way. But I am still all those things, in varying degrees, most of the time.

But to express these things is to be vulnerable. It's taking away the jokes, the fun, it makes you more of a real person. It's explaining that you're going to need to lean on the other person. It's giving them a glimpse into the future, when there will be times you won't be able to keep up. It's asking this person to take care of you, or at least prepare themselves to take care of you. And maybe some of these things are the things that I am the worst in the world at asking for. (Just maybe. Okay yes I am.)

That didn't feel great

Generally my convos with my students are pretty awesome, at least the diabetes- related ones. They are so loving, accepting, and genuinely curious that good things usually happen. But when you factor in families, misinformation, and other stuff floating around, sometimes things can be a bit....stickier.

Like last week, when one of my students came in and told me that her sister ate a doughnut for breakfast. And her dad told her, "Maybe you need to go talk to Ms. Gerber about diabetes." And of course it was a joke, and my student was telling me in a lighthearted way. It felt bad to rain on her parade and tell her that her dad had made a mistake. A mistake because nobody's diabetes is a joke, regardless of whether it's autoimmune or not. She was confused, and I'm not sure how much she really absorbed. It was awkward. It didn't feel great.

Or once when I needed to calibrate my CGM in the middle of a reading group, and another student said "Ooooh I hope you don't prick your finger here. I really don't like that." My stern response that I don't really like it either surprised her. That didn't feel great.

I can be harsh on my students, and assertive when it comes to my feelings about diabetes and how their comments and behavior affect me. It's not how I actually am when dealing with other adults, but I think it's important for their future interactions out in the world, whether it's with a PWD or a PW_____ disease, for them to remember that it's a sensitive subject. That people have feelings about their diseases, and that you can't be cavalier. I have a thicker skin than most (working with kids you have to...they will definitely let you know when you've been wearing the same outfit too much or your hair is looking unusually greasy) but I don't want to send the message that people with diabetes have to have thick skin. That just because their pancreas is on the outside, you have a right to comment on it however you want. I want to send the message that curiosity and respect are welcome, but feelings and boundaries must be respected. And sometimes that means shutting students down. And well....that doesn't feel great. 

The Big Reveal

T1D life: when in addition to making sure your legs are shaved for an outing, you also have to check and make sure--is my CGM bandage too ratty? How long has that moldering Band-Aid/Flexi-tape/Tegaderm combo been hanging on there anyway? And was it that greyish color when it started?? I mean, it's already a bit unusual looking anyway, so maybe it doesn't matter if it looks like swamp slime around the edges....hopefully....right??

It's an "invisible disease," sure...but only to a certain point. 

I'm Afraid of...

Dying at night.

It feels crazy to write that, because it's not every night and it's not all the time, but it is something that I think about probably more than the average person. I think I use this blog often to vent my frustrations. Or clear my head. Or share funny stories. It's not often that I like to be truly vulnerable on here, in real time. Usually I write about things a few days or weeks later, with a different lens, a calmer, more rational lens.

But last night I had one of those nights. You know that feeling that you get, where right when you're falling asleep, you feel like you step off a curb or miss a stair step or something and you jerk awake? Well I sometimes get those, except it's the middle of the night, and I feel jerked awake by a sudden fear that my blood sugar is low...like really low. I jolt awake, certain that I'm disoriented, confused, and near seizures. Only to check the CGM or prick my finger and see that I was cruising at 124 and steady. And there are some nights like these, where the fear doesn't subside for the rest of the night.

Or sometimes the fear sneaks in other ways. Like when I groggily hear the CGM go off, warning me that I've dropped below 85, and I just decide to ignore it and hope I'll stay in the 80s. And then it goes off several more times, and by the time I finally pay attention, I'm LOW below 55 and I've wasted 45 minutes pretending it wasn't going to happen and now I'll waste another hour tending to it.

Or when I am camping, and I have to be separated from my food. All food, even my sugar tabs. And I set my low alert to 90 just to be extra safe and I send myself to bed with a BG of 290 because I'm terrified of having to wake up and run to the bear canister. I sleep with my CGM tucked into my beanie, to be extra sure of hearing the vibrations. I wake every hour and a half, to be sure that I'm not accidentally sleeping on the side of my body where my sensor clings to my leg, thus cutting off signal and potentially not alerting me to my brain's starvation.

I think part of it has to do with the fact that I'm sleeping alone now for the first time in my diabetes career. But part of it has always been there, because to be honest, I have no idea what it looks like to have a severe hypoglycemic attack and it's very possible that I could die quietly in the night even with someone sleeping right next to me.

So, yeah. Having diabetes, it is what it is. Anyone could die in the night, at any time and I get that. To borrow a phrase from Bob's Burgers, I'm no hero. I still put my bra on one boob at a time, like anybody else. But maybe I know a little something about fear that I didn't before. 

Do you or a loved one suffer from diabeetus?

"Ms. Gerber! Ms. Gerber! Hiiiiiii! We miss you so much!!"

It's lovely to be at the beginning of the year, when my class from last year still feels so attached. They're not completely immersed in second grade yet, and are always looking for a hug when I walk by them. They'll move on, but for now it's nice to have the rockstar moments when they all go nuts when they see me.

Especially when they come out with gems like these:

"Ms. Gerber, how is your dia-bee-bu-diba-doot...you know, your, your, dibabeebles?"

So many fun ways to pronounce this condition!

It's kind of blissful when...

Your pump is on your arm and you're taking a CGM break and you realize that you don't have to do any kind of shimmy or dance to put on your pants.

That's all in terms of words of wisdom this week folks! Just the little things you know 😉

It's Weird and It's Wonderful

The nurse in the hospital told me that diabetes is like a part time job that you never get a day off from and never get paid for. She was right, and she forgot to mention that it forces you to become a workaholic, too. But while I am working hard, I also have a great appreciation for the work that I'm NOT doing.

Becoming aware and responsible for my body's processing of carbohydrates has made me in awe of everything else my body has been quietly, effortlessly chugging away at. Managing my blood sugar is exhausting and overwhelming and somehow my body is keeping me breathing?! It's translating my every intention into motion, every beam of light I encounter into visual information? Just spend some time thinking about it. It's a fun meditation in yoga class, to picture your muscles flexing and tightening and releasing, right underneath the skin. Imagine your lungs inflating. Try to break down the process next time you lift your leg to take a step.

When I was sick, unable to process carbohydrates on my own and unintentionally depriving it of insulin and access to proper energy, my body began breaking down its fat and muscle as energy sources. I lost 30 pounds. I shrank to a size 2, size 0, I shrank to my "Hollywood" weight, and I got compliments. I was scared but I was also happy. Because what woman doesn't want to be skinny?

But when you lose your fat, you lose your curves. You lose the part of you that looks like an actual adult woman. You can't sit down without feeling your bones hitting the chair. Your face sharpens and your features look too large. When you lose your muscle, you lose your abilities--to hike, to walk, to wander. When everything is effortful, you lose your enjoyment. Your body is "what you've always wanted" but there's nothing fun about it.

So imagine my joy when I actually got my body back. I got a second chance. I still have my struggles with my appearance, of course. But whenever I'm disappointed in the way clothes look, or feeling dismay over my bulky arms (everyone's got that one thing, right??), at least things are working. At least I'm alert enough to dismay. At least my body is functioning so well that I basically (well, with a lot of help from the media's messages to women) have to invent problems with myself.

The body-positive message is always, forget the outside, focus what's on the inside, right? Well of course personality is important. But don't forget about what's actually on your insides--muscle, and bones, and blood, and electrical impulses and whatnot. There's a lot going underneath your skin before you get down deep into your personality. There's a lot to appreciate in virtually every layer of you.