Today, people from all over the world gathered in their cities in a show of solidarity for equal rights. It was called the "Women's March," but in my opinion, it should have been the "People's March," because it put on display all the issues we have…
I have had diabetes for over twelve years now. Probably more, because they were pretty sure I had it for several years prior to diagnosis. The first ten years were a cakewalk. I only took a little bit of medicine and checked in with my doctor and really not much else. Then there was that time in my life when things got rough. I call them the Dark Years. It was when my mom got sick and I got sick and other then that bad time in childhood with my dad, it was pretty much the worst period of my life. The good news is when you have a bad couple years, you appreciate the good ones so much more. After I spent nine months on my back with the ear infection my body didn't bounce back easily. Part of this I know is age; when you're over 40, things just take longer to heal. But it just seemed like my pancreas has decided it just wasn't going to work anymore. So I was taking all kinds of different meds and lots of insulin.
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."
It's funny how anger feels when it is bottled up. Sometimes I imagine my chest is a mason jar and the heat of my emotions just continually push, condense, drip and reform inside the glass walls. That is how I have been feeling lately. Trapped inside my jar. I know part of all this is perimenopause; slowly creeping in, at least five years earlier than I imagined it would. If you have been through this fantastic stage of life, you understand how anger stays on the fringes of everything. Chipping a nail now becomes something that makes your blood boil. Your child making the most normal child-being-a-child comment makes you wonder why you ever wanted to be a mother. Then, add shifts in friendship, pressure at work... and a general feeling that there is nowhere to go with these feelings.
Note: March of Dimes and Cigna provided statistics for this post but I was not compensated in any way.Last week I posted about pre-e and mentioned that Dex was a premature baby. Honestly, it was one of the most stressful times of my life. Since then, I have bonded with other moms of premature babies, and also found support through the March of Dimes. We try to join in their annual March for Babies, but sometimes it conflicts with my birthday (this Sunday) and any corresponding plans. Yup. As it does this year. It's amazing to think these are the first photos we have of Dex. The first memories of motherhood I have are of the NICU and tubes and lights and stress. But without this amazing medical intervention, my son would not be here. I had a placental abruption, which could not have been predicted - and they still have no idea why it happened.