For more than ten years, I’ve been considered a high risk for diabetes. A few weeks ago, I finally connected with a new doctor (we moved to Colorado almost a year ago and had put it off for “reasons”.) She immediately reinstated the medicines I’d been on before, previously prescribed by my OBGYN as a woman with PCOS and at high risk for diabetes. A few years ago I dropped fifty pounds thanks to those drugs, but I gained it back since moving last year.
The doctor also tested my blood sugar.
I’ve crossed the line. Although my numbers were right on (tested about a week apart I was 6.6 and 6.5 and doc says they diagnose at 6.5) technically that means I have transitioned from “high risk” to “I am diabetic.”
I’ve been dreading this, but I find comfort in the dread of knowing I have an incurable disease. Now I know what is wrong with me. The tiredness, feeling sick, and multiple other symptoms all now have a name. Before, they were a jumble of side effects that were all my fault. I’m fat. Apparently I don’t get enough exercise. I must have horrible dietary habits.
The truth is far more complicated, and I may never truly understand everything that contributed to where I am now, healthwise.
Does this diagnosis affect my writing? Sure. Good and bad. I’ve started chronicling my first year as a diabetic. Hopefully I can do so with wit and honesty. (“Honesty” means there may be a chapter titled Lying to the Dietitian.) I may publish it eventually. I’m still writing a SciFi novel by hand in a series of notebooks. I’m still planning to put out The Cities of Luna in print form this Spring.
The bad is obvious. This disease requires a high level of self-care. I have to ask for certain accommodations at times, but at least it’s easier to say “Because I’m diabetic” than it was to say “I just really need this for my own personal reasons.” But to be honest, the fact that I have a bad cold is causing me more trouble than the diabetes at the moment. At least the cold will eventually go away.
The diabetes will be with me for the rest of my life.