The Betes, B.S. and Bats: Guys, we Need to talk about this.

It’s World Diabetes Day, but I’d rather talk about fashion.

I don’t feel like thinking about blood sugar highs and lows that constantly exhaust me. I don’t feel like counting the 80,000+ injections I have jabbed into my flesh in the last 32 years, causing permanent scarring in the form of hard lumps below the surface.

Or the gazillion (Probably about 100,000, no exaggeration) finger pokes that don’t really hurt, but are so annoying when you are trying to pump out the sample and suddenly blood bursts out and splatters all over your friend’s off-the-lot new car. And the used strips! Yikes! Those things get EVERYWHERE. Think avalanche of white and grey and a teensy bit of dark red cascading onto the carpet of your neighbours living room; down your cleavage into your bra; into the crevice of your movie theatre seat.

Speaking of which, have you ever tried to test your B.S. (Interpret that however you wish.) in the dark with no back light on your meter?!? You think the light from the movie is bright enough to see and just when the number starts flashing, you’re in a cave of bats, being catapulted into a pit of black. Wait. The bats have flown out into the night moon which illuminates the screen. And...your meter’s auto shut off kicks in, beeps and goes blank. (I think I heard it laugh. Yes, the machine.) You whisper a choice word or two under your breath as to not disturb the man with bad breath sitting beside you, a look of disgust on his ashen face aimed your way highlighted by the movie moon as you suck the blood off your finger so that you can start all over. Repeat one or two more times and...two droplets of blood drip onto your white jeans before the flashing number on the meter informs you that you need insulin, stat.

Imagine now, that you must either stand up and push past the five people trapping you in the row of theatre seats, risking movie-interruption-rage (it’s a thing) to go to the restroom or, dig into your bra through the neck hole of your form-flattering v-neck and pull out your insulin pump, now risking Mr. Bad Breath’s judgement all over again. Nightmare.

I also don’t feel like contemplating the collection of complications my body endures due to diabetes. Things like neuropathy which flashes and stings anywhere and everywhere. Or Gastro-paresis which almost paralyses my whole intestinal system creating nausea and, ahem, other problems, like, const...antly. (See what I did there?) Or the blindness that occurred and could reappear. (Not funny, I know.) Burning feet? Check. Chronic fatigue? Yup.  Electric shocks zapping and biting and zinging like unauthorised war torture? You got it. 

I hate the fact that my uncle, a fellow person with diabetes and the uncle who wormed his way into my heart when I was two has this disease also. You know, the one who endearing called me motor mouth for the first 20 years of my life or so, and has just lost a toe due to an infected ulcer, is battling heart disease and struggles to breathe without oxygen. No, thinking about losing him is too hard, too much. Did I mention both Dads have diabetes too?

I for sure don’t want to talk about the tally of lives this disease steals on a daily basis. Heart disease is the leading killer, the highest percentage caused by diabetes.

No, I want a diabetes break. I want to talk about new winter fashion trends and edgy haircuts and makeup contouring.

But I can’t. Not today.

People with diabetes don’t get to take a break. We can’t escape our bodies for a week, a day or even an hour. Our traitorous blood courses through our veins having it’s way with us whether we like it or not. It wreaks havoc; attacks; destroys. It exhausts, operates in constant flux - manipulating and confusing its host, and it never sleeps. Sometimes it is weak and slow to devastate. Then we celebrate. Unfortunately, most people with this disease, in the long run, do not come away unscathed. Damage is Diabetes Mellitus’ middle name.

We need resources. We need research. We need support. We need patience. We need compassion.

We need a cure.

It’s not about me. My story from this point on will include complications on every page turned. But...it is not too late for so many – For children newly diagnosed and teenagers with little deterioration and my husband’s cousin and my dad.

We need Hope.

World Diabetes Day is a day for raising awareness, gaining understanding and yes, learning the hard truths of this epidemic.

Please...

Give. Learn. Care. Share.

We need to talk about this.