I’ve mentioned before that I have Type 1 Diabetes. Put simply, that means my pancreas doesn’t produce insulin, and I have to give myself that insulin. I use an insulin pump, but others do injections.
For the sake of simplicity, I’m going to say “diabetes” and mean Type 1. Type 2 is a different disease.
Diabetes is considered an invisible illness. There are no outward, physically visible symptoms that show up. Unless you’re a regular Sherlock, one look at me wouldn’t tell you that I’m a diabetic.
My insulin pump is so slim that it hides neatly under my clothes. My CGM sensor sits on my arm, a little bump that’s usually unnoticeable.
But I see it all. I feel all the highs and the lows.
I feel the stress.
Diabetes isn’t a joke – it can kill people. Being too high or too low can spell disaster. The magic is hitting the sweet spot with my blood sugars – making them look like this:
I believe that my diabetes gave my mom gray hair. She woke up in the middle of the night every night to check my blood sugar when I was a kid. I sometimes wonder if she still wakes up at 2 AM thinking she has to go check me.
That’s what diabetes does to people.
It trains you into a new “normal” that never goes away.