I feel stupid talking about my health because once I get rolling, I sound like I am making it up and/or I am a total hypochondriac. As a child, I wasn’t particularly sickly – although I do remember a bad case of pneumonia when I was out of school for so long my mom sewed me a doll. I wish I still had that doll, because it was one of those surprise gifts that mean so much.
It would also be nice to hug that doll on days that I try and balance all the things wrong with me now.
I’ve always battled my weight and yo-yoed up and down since puberty. There is rampant Type 2 diabetes on both sides of the family, so it’s not surprising they found mine at age 32 while I was pregnant with Dex. They knew it was not gestational – my numbers were so high the diabetes clinic cleared their evening schedule to teach me about insulin and the nutrition of diabetes. I asked if Bryan could give me the shots and the nurse looked at me sympathetically. “You’re going to be dealing with this the rest of your life. We really prefer that you handle it.”
Everything was downhill after that. An emergency c-section (unrelated to the diabetes). Sinus issues so bad we have talked about surgery. Night terrors. Anxiety. Depression. Pills. More pills. An eye emergency in New York that lead me to the ER and weeks of gunky ointment. Then, of course, that wonderful ear infection that almost killed me and put me on my back for nine months. Oh yeah, and the damn diabetes.
I am starting to feel the pin pricks in my feet that sometimes show that circulation is failing. My hands are incredibly cold all the time. We have tried various new regimes to get my numbers back under control, but everything since my ear infection has met with minimal success.
Sometimes I feel like I am running on borrowed time. Every ache leads to another pain and no matter how I stretch, the muscles just don’t work right anymore. Sure, I could exercise – but who wants to do that?
I waffle between dreading what the future in my body will be like, and looking forward to all the adventures I have left. When I was younger and people talked about mid-life crisis, it always seemed like getting that fast car or fast girlfriend was about trying to relive your past. Now it seems more like trying to do all the things you wish you could have done (pun intended) before time runs out.
But I don’t want a fast car or fast girlfriend. I’d just like to be able to participate in the world rather than watching it go by. If I had to pinpoint one of my biggest fears, that would be it.
We do so much – but what about when we can’t?