I happened to find this book the other day. woman holding things. Author and illustrator Maira Kalman called it: “A love song for those who are exhausted from carrying everything.” It’s absolutely gorgeous and has beautiful illustrations of everything a woman is, both literally and figuratively.
And I thought about what people with diabetes go through, how exhausting and draining it is to have diabetes, and everything that comes with it. I can’t draw, but here are my words that highlight some of the things we have. It’s a love letter to the strength diabetics find in holding on to things, even when they don’t want to let it all go.
I have no choice but to be patient.
We all carry bags with us to carry our diabetic supplies. Currently, I have a separate bag with just the sensor, pump, alcohol wipes and all the spares while I’m waiting to board the plane. It’s your constant travel companion, carried with you at the airport, on the plane, on the ground to your hotel, and at every step of your journey.
We drink coffee because sometimes it feels like the only thing that gets us through the day.
We have fears about the future and what it might be. It’s a shadow that sometimes stretches longer than we would like.
We have emergency hypo-snacks ready for unexpected moments. Or as expected… (see airport).
We feel guilty for ridiculous reasons, but we shouldn’t, it’s a heavy thing and we would be much lighter if we could let it go. But it’s there. we keep it.
We hold hope close to our hearts, trying to balance fear or at least lessen its weight.
We carry insulin bottles, blood sugar monitoring supplies, and all the accessories you need for a pancreas replacement.
We experience anxiety, worry, and sometimes quiet anxiety about what the next day, next week, or next year will bring.
We keep our diabetic friends close because they understand without us having to explain. And that by being there for them as they hold us close, somehow the magical law of reciprocation will work and the burden of diabetes will be alleviated a little for all of us. hoping.
We hold other diabetes stakeholders accountable when they fall short of our expectations, fail to understand the nuances of our lived experience, or underestimate our expertise. Masu. Or when they launch further fear-mongering campaigns.
We continue to look closely at research to find out what life with diabetes will be like in the future.
And we will continue to keep our promise. Even the promise of five more years knows it’s a joke, but maybe if we hold on tight to it, it might come true.
We are passionate about advocating for better care, more understanding, and greater awareness.
We hold a bottle of cinnamon in our hands not because we know it’s a cure, but because the apple cake we’re holding for afternoon tea tastes so good.
People who remember things before continue to have memories of what life was like before living with and dealing with diabetes.
We hold the hands of those who were later diagnosed because we are so grateful to those who came before us and held our hands.
We hold the key to our lived experience and with it a unique perspective that must be listened to. Because we continue to believe in #NothingAboutUsWithoutUs.
We have a wealth of knowledge gained from being world-class experts in diabetes.
We have a firm grip on the realities of life with diabetes. Because if you miss it, the consequences will be greater than you can imagine.
We all have an inner strength that surprises even ourselves.
We often hold nothing back when it comes to telling our stories and standing up for what is right.
We have the power to change perceptions, influence policy and inspire others.
When we feel we have won, we feel triumphant and elated. Because even when you feel like dropping the ball, you can get through it by holding on to those small victories.
We hold our loved ones close. Sometimes we protect them, and sometimes we draw strength from their support.
We have the courage to face each challenge every day with courage we cannot believe for ourselves.
We keep a steady pace because we know diabetes is a marathon, not a sprint.
We continue to believe that we will be okay, that we will be okay. Because otherwise, there is nothing to hold on to. And that’s… too heavy to think about.