Off conversations

Have you ever wondered how strange your diabetes-related conversations must sound for the innocents passing by?
Some samples:
"Ugh, I feel so sick.
-You should make a test!
I guess it's a little too late for that"
Here I was talking about the fact that I'm over the 1-hour-after-meal or 2-hours-after-meal range and the numbers would be inconclusive.
''Ugh, I feel so sick.
-You should make a test!
I can't, my hands are dirty!"
I should've shouted that my conscience isn't clean.
To be continued.

Perfect 100!

Perfect 2h pp:

Night time hypoglicemia

I go to the bathroom of my dormroom, only to find one of my colleagues sitting on the toilet, fully clothed, studying for the exam we have in two days.
-What are you doing? Why are you in my bathroom?!
He just shrugs like he always does when he doesn't want to answer a question and I leave it to that.
I turn to the mirror, look at my hair and decide to cut it in half. Look, there are some scissors right there. Why don't you take them and cut your hair? I find myself staring at the tail in my hand. Tiny voice in my head:
-Alexandra, what are you doing? What is wrong with you?
This isn't right. This isn't real. Tiny voice again:
-You must be in hypo. Test yourself.
I must be dreaming?
Wake up. Wake up.
Ok, I'm awake now. It's really dark, but I go straight to the bag with my supplies, take it and carry myself to the bathroom, as quietly as possible considering the fact that my legs feel cemented in a certain position (I have two roommates and I try not to let my diabetes affect them at night too.)
I test myself: 52.
Hmmm. This feels too bad for it to only be 52. Nevertheless, I redo the process of putting one foot in front of the other for what seems like infinity until I get to the fridge. Can't remember what I actually ate, but must've been good because I woke up with a bs of 112 and the full length of my hair.

Pain

When you're diagnosed as a diabetic, you get a glucometer, some pens and off you go. You get used to the process rather fast-it is about surviving, after all.
They ask me about pain, when they see all the needles. I'm fine with that. It usually doesn't hurt.
But. From time to time, i kick a nerve or a blood vessel. Or there's a blunt needle involved. The sudden pain is astounding.
They ask me:"Are you sick? Are you in pain?"
No, i'm usually not in pain, not the physical kind. But psychologically...
My eyes get watery. The whole area hurts and stings and gets numbed. I blink fast, i find another area to inject and just not think about it anymore.
But there are moments when i do choose to think about the pain. From time to time, i feel some bumps under my skin in the places where i usually inject. From time to time, when i run after the bus or simply wash the dishes, i feel some phantom pains like the needles would protrude on the outside, this time. From time to time, i inject myself in the arm in front of the mirror (is the only way i succeed) and I can't, for the life of me, recognise the girl in the mirror. Who are you and what are you doing to your body? How did you learn that so fast? What have you done to me?
I was diagnosed as an (mostly) adult.
It's a trauma. I know I have to deal with it, and I'm working on it through this blog.
I try to feel everything there is to feel now, at it's time. I search for information, I want to give information, I just take care.
But from time to time, usually in the dark, in my bed, I choose to think about Before. I choose to look at the pictures from Before and wonder if Diabetes was born with me or it chose to accompany me somewhere on the road. I choose to visualise a future without this diagnosis but I don't fool myslef. I try to accept it but I'm also not ready to give up the life I imagined for me.
I think it has to do with my identity. I was in a full process of cristalizing my persona when D. came to reconfigurate everything.
But that's some blabber for another post.