This morning I had another appointment with my specialist; more blood drawn and more treatments and words and definitions thrown at me. For the past 6 months I’ve been fighting really hard to keep diabetes at bay. Having already been through Gestational Diabetes 4 years ago with my last pregnancy – I was always aware that I could later develop Type 2. But was told that I shouldn’t worry about it, it’s rare.
I didn’t stop monitoring my blood sugar and things never went back to normal. I was able to control my blood glucose and my A1C’s for a very long time, I even went on a very drastic diet (with medical supervision) to lose weight, as that can lead to diabetes as well – AND IT WORKED.
You guys, I did it all. I got lazy some times because I needed a break, yes. But I’ve been fighting and denying and trying really fucking hard to keep myself healthy.
But, actually? I’m Type 1 and from what I heard today, will need insulin for the rest of my life. My body has completely rejected my pancreas. I fucking hate that organ.
This isn’t a death sentence, I know. Although?? It could be, if we don’t get things under control – and no matter how hard I try or how much medication they put me on … it has been out of control for months now. I’m exhausted.
I feel angry and defeated and completely lied to. Except I think I’m the one who’s been lying lately. Afraid, scared.
And all of these things? They could go away completely when I inject myself tonight for the first time with insulin. And it could all be better and I wouldn’t have to worry anymore.
So, I’m ok. For all intents and purposes. I will survive – I’ll even thrive doing it. But it’s raw and fresh and finally has a name and I’m pissed off and scared and hurt.