My Diabetes Turns Three. I Don’t Wanna Talk About It.

It’s my diaversary today, and I don’t really want to write anything. (Tomorrow’s my diabirthday too: my diagnosis took two days to confirm so I have a two-day diafestivus. Lucky me.)

The day my diabetes turned 1 (in 2011), I threw a massive party at a Mile End café. Local businesses donated food, my musician-friends played for free, people even danced a hora – and we raised about 1000 dollars for diabetes research. It was a celebration.

Last year, when my diabetes turned 2, I went for an epic morning run in the Grand River countryside, followed by an epic biking adventure with a couple of buddies, and then spent some quality time with a gentleman-friend who showered me with wine and food. I wrote a blog post. I reflected. I mused. I cried. I wrote poems. I uttered words of thanks and gratitude for my life.

This year, I tried to organize a little something (a get-together at my parents’ house, where I am visiting for a few days), like a party for my hometown friends to say thank you for their selfless support that first year. None of us could get the timing right though. And I kinda lost motivation to do anything epic today, like some long stupid bike ride along the St Laurence River, or ass-kicking run across the province or something. I don’t really want to do much of anything today to be honest, except hang with my friends who I never get to see, watch Downton Abbey on my parents’ HD screen, sleep a lot, and visit with my family.

After all, I just submitted my graduate thesis, just presented at my first conference, am days away from completing my master’s degree, and am about to start a new job – as a music therapist, exactly what I went to school to do – in another city. I’m tired, and have a lot to think about, and have a lot on my plate. There’s a helluva lot I’m proud of right now, and a lot I need to prepare and plan for.

I don’t really want to deal with my diabetes right now. Let alone mark an anniversary of it. (The one thing I can say for the betes right now: it’s a fucking pain in the ass. The fact of all this change and excitement and travel has made my diabetes particularly aggravating to manage.)

Nonetheless, I am a therapist, and artsy-introspective type, and feel it is important to recognize significant anniversaries and milestones. So I will. Tomorrow, on the anniversary of when they actually confirmed I was diabetic (and shipped me off to the hospital, and fed me with medformin for a few hours before catching on that I was actually Type 1, while outside the rains fell and the lilacs bloomed and the Habs continued to burn their way through the playoffs….), tomorrow I will reflect on this bullshit. But not today.

Today, I will simply say that I am pissed off about diabetes. It sucks. I hate it. There are tons of other amazing things I’d rather be thinking about right now.

And the silver lining? This anger is probably the healthiest thing I’ve expressed about my diabetes in three years.

Anger means that I have healthfully, over time, differented myself from my diabetes. It means that I can say “diabetes sucks,” without it meaning that “my life sucks.” It means that my diabetes doesn’t define me like it used to.

But more on that tomorrow. For now, I’m gonna go read my new Sue Monk Kidd book, help my mom with dinner, then settle into re-watching Lady Edith getting jilted at the altar, and maybe write some learning goals for my new job. Shit that matters. The good things in life that I’ve actually manifested and earned, that’s the stuff to be proud of. Not diabetes. I didn’t manifest diabetes. It’s just along for the free ride. Little bugger.