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I am a diabetic. And I'm tired.
by Vicki Gladden

I'm tired of being a burden to my family, I resent that my children have suffered because of me; that my two year old knows what a glucometer is. I try not to cry when she looks at my tummy and proclaims I have a boo-boo and need a "bambage" for it, and that she wants to kiss it and make it better.

I mourn that my older three kids have had to call 911 to save my life and that their eyes look so old when the EMTs leave. I want to look into their eyes and tell them I will be OK, but I wonder inwardly if I will be around to watch them grow up. Sometimes I am sure that I will never hold a grandchild.

My heart breaks at the youth and innocence in my infants eyes and I doubt that I will live to see the pain of a failed first love. I scream inside at the helplessness of my body; the battle I know I'm losing. I feel betrayed by the body that refuses to work when it is having an insulin reaction and I'm temporarily paralyzed and cannot even crawl for help.

I am SO ANGRY that the Drs. have proclaimed me unable to have more children; my right to pregnancy robbed from me. I feel shame when my sugar is out of control and causes me to snap at my loved ones and sleep the sleep of the dead. I am to blame for the worry in their eyes, the resentment they are too kind to show but are normal enough to feel over the trouble my disease causes them.

I want to save the children who are diagnosed with this disease, but can only empathize with...and I want to slap the parents that are too selfish to think past the inconvenience of shots and schedules; who forget the sufferer in the process.

I want to shout to the world that I'm NOT deformed, even though I know, with all that's in my being that I am. Defective. Abnormal. Different.

I'm furious with the people who have no clue—but judge me because of out of range blood sugars. I will scream if I hear one more time that I would be "fine" if I took care of myself.

I want to take this disease out of my body and stomp it with the hatred and violence that it deserves; to inflict the damage it has done to me; my eyes, my heart, my kidneys, my soul. I want to pin the evil that it is on the wall and cheer as my family throws darts at it--and know that it's gone forever.

I want to eat what I want to when I want to--to go days without eating;to eat all the cheesecake I can until I throw-up and have my blood sugar stay normal. I want to live my life without infections that ooze from the wounds in my stomach--self inflicted so that I can live as normally as possible. I want a tummy that is free of bruises, scabs and old adhesive tape.

I want to start my day off without taking pills to keep me alive; to be free of the tubing that protrudes from my stomach—I am tired of it getting caught on the cabinets. I want to wear a dress without a pair of shorts under it clip my insulin pump on, and I want to throw the insulin pump into my junk drawer to remind me of how my life was BEFORE the cure! I want to sleep naked without worrying about my insulin pump, unclipped and hanging free, will strangle my youngest in her sleep.

I want to live again with the normal worries of every day living without insulin.

I want to know that if something happens and the world is destroyed as we know it, that I can be one of the people to help rebuild it; instead of knowing that without insulin I'm doomed.

I want my legs to stop tingling because of nerve damage and I want to sit cross legged for an hour and still be able to feel my toes. I want to get the normal sicknesses without being stuck in the hospital because I'm vulnerable to complications.

I'm tired of being in the group of people that need flu shots. I'm not old. But my body is. And my soul is. I want to be free.

Insulin is not a cure.

And I shouldn't have to settle for it.

©Vicki Gladden, June 27,1999


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