Why This Picture Makes My Mother Emotional

This content originally appeared on Beyond Type 1. Republished with permission.

By Esi Akyere Mali Snodgrass

When I was in the 4th grade and attended Roosevelt Elementary School in Iowa City, Iowa we had a school-wide science project called ‘Operation Egg Drop’. The challenge was to have each class pull together their best ‘engineers’ to build a contraption out of edible materials that would be wrapped around an egg that would withstand it being dropped from our school’s rooftop. Marshmallows, powdered doughnuts, Twinkies, snowballs, small cinnamon rolls, and a lot of other edible padding was donated by the local companies and provided in bulk to each class. I squished each individual item in my hands to guess which arrangement would be most successful to protect the egg on impact. Many of the items I had never actually held in my hands. When I opened each package, their scent was overwhelming, and unlike anything I had ever experienced. It lingered and hung in the air.

Sweet Creations

On the big Egg Drop Day, the entire school stood outside and watched as their best attempts were tossed over the side of the building. Each student cheered for the other classes in the spirit of true sportsmanship. My class lost, but it didn’t matter, it was a lot of fun; I remember it to this day. The leftover edible materials that weren’t used for the Egg Drop were divided amongst the students for them to enjoy. I took mine home to my siblings.

A few weeks later, I walked into the classroom and the now familiar, overwhelming scent of sweet packaged materials had filled our classroom once again. Our teacher Mrs. Saunders decided to continue the edibles-turned-building-material theme with a new project. She told us that we were to build a gingerbread house out of cinnamon graham crackers, assorted candies, and frosting. Since our class didn’t win the last event, I was so excited to be given the opportunity to redeem myself from the Egg Drop and to make something great. I was ecstatic and began to sketch my idea out on the provided paper plate. In my mind, I was drafting a blueprint and building a tiny yet deluxe home from Hansel and Gretel.

I had an absolute mansion in mind and used the sugary goop to connect the gumdrops to the walls and to withstand the decorative attic and chimney I planned to add. I was so enthralled with the activity that one would have thought I was building something humans would actually live inside. I delighted in the entire experience. Mrs. Sauders scanned the room, attempting to encourage the frustrated faces of the students who wanted to eat the materials and those who didn’t or couldn’t see the edible materials as anything other than… edible.

Once Mrs. Saunders made it over to my desk, I was giggling to myself with excitement and pure pride that my imagination had built something that was so grand in my eyes. She laughed and took my picture at that moment. Once we had all finished and done what we could do, she gave us all Saran Wrap to cover our creations to set on display for the next two days. Most students had a pile of confectionary rubble and were frustrated from the entire process. On the day we were to consume our creation, Mrs. Saunders gave me this picture to take home. Reinforced with globs of frosting and standing strong on its paper plate, I kept my house wrapped in its Saran Wrap to take home to my siblings to enjoy.

Just a Kid

Decades later, this picture resurfaced and all the memories and feelings of pride, accomplishment, determination, and happiness flooded back to mind. When I showed my mother grinning, she looked teary-eyed and emotional. Confused, I asked her why the picture gave her such a reaction.

‘You didn’t lick your fingers, Esi… You didn’t even lick your fingers…I don’t know how you were able to resist doing that… You were a kid, that’s the most fun part…’

I looked back at the picture, trying to understand what she meant, and I saw the frosting: white and goopy hanging from each of my fingers. I grinned and laughed.

‘Lick my fingers? I was all about building a Hansel and Gretal house, why would I eat my mater-‘

It hit me at that moment, in all the years to that point that I had lived with type 1 diabetes, refined sugar was so far from my consumption experience that I had never, ever thought of eating any of the ‘building materials,’ I was playing with that day myself. It never crossed my mind. It was as foreign of a thought as eating paint or wood. My mother saw her baby girl missing out and wished she had supplied me with sugar-free options or asked the teacher to give me an equally fun yet alternative activity; I saw a goofy kid having an absolute blast.

Perspective Can Determine Our Joy

I say all this to say that perspective can oftentimes determine our joy. There are so many things that many of us humans cannot do: fly without assistance, breathe underwater without assistance, move as fast as a cheetah without assistance, or even process glucose without assistance. Whatever it is that each of us cannot do, it does us no good to sit in the ‘can’t,’ to settle in the restriction. It is futile to focus on the endless lists of things that we are unable to do or experience when there is so much we can enjoy and accomplish… What can you do? What can you enjoy? What brings you joy? How do you turn your pile of ‘edible materials’ into a Hansel and Gretel mansion? How do you turn your lemons into refreshing (sugar-free) lemonade?

Source: diabetesdaily.com

A Letter to My 12 Year Old Self: Diabetes, 20 Years On

Dear Chrissy,

It’s June 20th, 2000, and right now you’re in the emergency department of the King’s Daughters Children’s Hospital in Norfolk, Virginia. You were supposed to be on a weeklong vacation with your siblings and parents, frolicking in the salty seawater and eating cotton candy on the boardwalk of Virginia Beach, but instead, on day three of the trip, you’ve been rushed via ambulance to the ER, feeling weak, nauseous, and on the brink of unconsciousness. You’re small. An active cheerleader in your middle school, you’ve lost over 30 lbs in a little under a month, which is striking on your lithe frame. Every nurse notices how underweight you are.

The glucometer at the Urgent Care your parents took you to this morning simply read, “HIGH”. When the nurse looks at your parents and says the words, “your daughter has diabetes”, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen dad cry. You’re completely terrified that the word “diabetes” has “die” as the first syllable. Are you going to die? Thankfully, no. Not today, and not within the next 20 years, either.

The next few years will be hard, actually, they all are. Sadly, even though diabetes is technically “manageable”, it never really gets any easier, but you’ll become tougher. You will try out four different insulin pumps before you find one, at the ripe old age of 30 (and spoiler alert, it’s tubeless). You’ll prick your tiny, fragile fingers literally thousands of times, but in 15 years (the time will fly by, I promise), you’ll use a seemingly magical machine that checks your blood sugar 288 times per day for you, without you having to do A THING, and it’ll transmit the numbers to your telephone (those things are cordless in the future, too). Eventually, but I’m getting ahead of myself now, those numbers will talk to your insulin pump for you, and make dosing decisions while you drive, or work, or makeout, or go running, or read a novel. Science is pretty neat.

Once you start the 7th grade, you won’t tell anyone about your new mystery disease. Honestly? You’re embarrassed. The only other people you’ve ever met with diabetes were your elderly next-door neighbor’s sister and Wilford Brimley, from TV. You make your mom pinky swear that she won’t tell your friends’ moms, and you promise yourself that you just won’t attend sleepovers until you go away for college. Please don’t do this to yourself. Spare yourself the heartache. Diabetes will give you physical battle scars and mental wounds, but it will also develop some of the most beautiful attributes people will love about you: your compassion for others, your enthusiasm to live in the moment, your fearlessness in the face of adversity, your humility, your grace.

You’ll be the only 13-year-old girl drinking Tab at your bestie’s summer birthday party. Don’t be embarrassed. Exotically-flavored seltzer waters will be all the rage in 20 years. You’re just ahead of your time.

You’ll grow up quickly. You were always conscientious, polite, and studious, but having diabetes will make you disciplined, strong-willed, and courageous–you won’t really have a choice in the matter. Diabetes will toughen you where you’re soft; diabetes will break you open.

You’ll become obsessed with counting carbs (trust me, this is good), and dosing correctly (also good), but will become preternaturally focused on food and nutrition. You will deny and deny and deny. You’ll eat an apple when everyone is enjoying an ice cream; you’ll swear that string cheese is more fun than cookies. This can sometimes be good in the name of a better hba1c, but please, let yourself be a child for a little while longer. You’ll cry, because having a chronic disease can be very lonely and sad sometimes, and it’s okay to be sad sometimes, too. Go to therapy. It’ll be worth it.

Your mom will make you go to diabetes camp. You will resist going at every turn. You will cry and scream, and when she drops you off at the loading dock of Camp Setebaid, you swear you’ll never talk to her again. But by night three, you will have forgotten all about the hardships of living amongst “nons”. You’ll meet some of your closest friends at diabetes camp, and they’ll last a lifetime. You’ll have camp crushes, and camp kisses, and still remember campfire songs until your mid-30s. You’ll go waltzing with bears, and do the polar bear swim, and learn how to build a campfire, and get lost in the woods under a velvety night sky, and will learn how to use a cleavus, and will eat two dozen chocolate chip cookies one night when you accidentally replace your dose of Lantus with Humalog (oops). You’ll pee your pants laughing, and cry every summer when camp ends. You’ll make many friends along the way–friends who get it, who get you, for the first time ever. You’ll lose some of them over the years, to diabetes, or depression, or both, and will weep at their funerals. Your best camp friend will be in your wedding party in 17 years.

You’ll become tough. You never asked for this life, but you sure have made a point of living it to the fullest. There will be many doctors who will try and tell you things you can’t or shouldn’t do: join the swim team, play competitive sports, travel abroad, go to college out of state, have children–and you’ll prove most of them wrong. You will learn to not take no for an answer. You’ll develop an iron will. You’ll become gritty as hell.

Diabetes will encourage your interests in health and well-being, and out of college you’ll be a social worker, eventually getting your master of public health (I don’t think this degree exists in 2000, but it’s coming down the pike). You’ll be a vegetarian. You’ll run marathons. You’ll climb something that’s called a 14er (I know you live in Pennsylvania, but someday, when you live in Colorado, this will be a very big deal). You’ll find your dream job of working in diabetes advocacy, that will take your passion and use it to help thousands of other people who struggle with the same issues you do. You’ll change lives for the better.

One day, you’ll meet a man at work, who’s sweet and kind and compassionate. One evening, still in the early days of dating, you’ll notice he bought three containers of glucose tabs and stored them in his pantry without telling you. “Just so you feel safe here,” he says. Three years later, you’ll marry him.

In 20 years, you won’t have everything all figured out, but you’ll know more about who you are, and who you want to be. And diabetes, in large part, has helped to craft that. I know you’re seeing dad cry right now, so why don’t you go give him a hug and let him know everything will be okay. Because, really, in time, it will be.

Love,

Christine

Source: diabetesdaily.com

Celebrating a Diaversary in Quarantine

The whole world has seemingly halted operations, due to the novel coronavirus. With over 1/3 of the world’s population on lockdown, shops, restaurants, coffee shops, tattoo parlors, bars, and gyms (any non-essential business) are closed, it’s almost impossible to find something (anything!?) to celebrate these days.

But as we all know, diabetes doesn’t stop, not even for a global pandemic. Those of us with diabetes are still counting, measuring, and injecting multiple times every day, and with that, come diaversaries, or celebrating the anniversary of our diagnosis date. For some people, this can be very emotional, and I’ve previously talked about celebrating my diaversary here. So, how exactly do you celebrate a diaversary while in quarantine? Whether you’re celebrating for yourself or a loved one, check out our top ideas:

Still Mark the Occasion

You may be wondering if celebrating your diaversary is even worth it during this time of international grief and suffering, and I say, if you feel like celebrating, then by all means, celebrate! There is a heaviness in the air, and many people are suffering, but if you can acknowledge the hard work, time, and dedication you’ve given yourself to be healthy this past year, it’s good not only for your self-esteem but also for your mental health.

Treat Yourself

You may not be able to take a lavish vacation, or go out to a fancy dinner, but you can still treat yourself by baking a cake, creating an elaborate meal at home, or toasting to good health in your backyard. Make the evening special by lighting candles, dressing up, and playing some music while you take in the occasion.

Involve Friends and Family

You can zoom or video chat with your closest friends and family who may live far away, for a party without all the clean up! Touching base with those close to you on such a momentous day to reminisce, laugh (or cry!), and connecting will be totally worth it.

Set Goals

A diaversary is an excellent time to look back on your year with diabetes, review what worked for you and what hasn’t (maybe ice cream for breakfast three times a week wasn’t such a good idea?), and set some goals for your upcoming year with diabetes. Maybe you want to try out a new kind of CGM, or get your HbA1c to a lower (or even higher) level. Maybe you’re trying to take a pump break or give insulin pens a try. Set some goals to get your year started off right!

Indulge

Whether that’s by skipping dish-duty for a long, leisurely walk around your neighborhood, or having an extra piece of cake, or even by ordering a fun diabetes bag, make sure you enjoy a no-guilt treat on this day- after all, you deserve it!

Celebrating your diaversary during quarantine and shelter-in-place rules is definitely different, but it doesn’t have to be sad or lonely. Have you celebrated your diaversary during the COVID quarantine, or are you planning to? What strategies or ideas have you used or do you plan on using in order to celebrate? Share this post and share your stories below; we love hearing from our readers!

Source: diabetesdaily.com

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