Today is the 20th anniversary of the day I was diagnosed with Type I Diabetes. That includes ten years of injections (between two and five shots a day), ten years of an insulin pump, and between four to twelve finger pricks a day for TWENTY FREAKIN YEARS. Not to mention weighing my food for years, denying myself sugar for years, carrying Sweet-Tarts or juice boxes or whatever in case of a low, several weeks of hospitalization to get educated on this whole diabetes scene, etc., etc. And what do I have to say about all that?
Hell, yeah. Look at me go.
Well, I mean, how upset can I really be? I COULD mope around feeling all sorry for myself that I have this stupid disease OR I could do what I DID do, which is be HAPPY. I have all my limbs. I have two kids. I have my eyesight. I have functioning kidneys. I have minimal nerve damage. Twenty years ago when I was diagnosed, I was told I would have NONE of those things at this point. Nobody even knew if I would be ALIVE. Diabetes care has come a long way in twenty years. Sure, I could not have diabetes, but I do. And since I do, I COULD have all sorts of complications from the disease. Or I COULD live in a third world country where I didn't have the option of shots/blood sugar testing/endocrinologists. It's all about the perspective, right?
I feel pretty damn lucky.