Ok. At 15, just after New Years I was altogether afraid to give an orange a needle. I was also afraid I’d never have a pizza again. A week later I was a little afraid to pinch the skin on my arm so that someone could jab a needle in there. A couple of weeks later I was a little afraid to pinch the skin on my leg so someone could pop a needle in there. Actually, that one still makes my skin crawl. Every once in ten or twenty times the needle hits a nerve (on the top of your leg) and your leg and then your whole body quakes and quivers reacting to some sort of violent neural-electronic shock.

Before I was 16, I was telling adults that it wasn’t so bad, that you had to deal with what you had to deal with and that, well, if I had to have a disease this was the best one because for the most part you got to live a full life. I had had quite a few pizzas by then.

I still don’t like getting blood drawn. I don’t mind if I’m holding the needle but I hate when someone else does it. Actually, when getting blood drawn, I don’t really mind the needle. I hate the elastic thing stuck around the top of your arm. I give myself my needle now. Always. And it’s always in the belly. There’s a strip of flesh on either side and a little above and below my belly button which serves primarily as my pin cushion. I suppose for that reason, and many others, I will never have a 6 pack.

I still think that it’s true that a person deals with what they have to deal with. What choice is there? And most of the time I don’t mind being a diabetic. I take a needle like I brush my teeth. It’s just something that I do. After I brush my teeth I spit into the sink. After I take my insulin, I give Murph a cookie. Still, I don’t really like saying I have a disease. And I really dislike it when other people say I have a disease.

I suppose that I do. But it’s such a nasty word. Most of the time, and for many days, I can live and I can forget that I’m a diabetic. I don’t much care for sugar. I like Diet Coke. Needles are habits that mean nothing. I can go a long time without really realizing I’m a diabetic. I eat what I eat when I eat it because I feel like it. Occasionally, quite infrequently, a concerned friend will mention that diabetics shouldn’t smoke. But mostly my friends know that I know all this stuff and they have the sensitivity not to mention it. Sometimes I will read an article about how diabetics go blind or impotent, or how they die young and it will bug me for a few minutes until I push it out of my mind. True, if I respected my older self, I would stop smoking. I would take more blood tests. I wouldn’t drink. I would go to my apartment building’s gym more. But that’s true of everybody.

I take reasonably good care of myself. And as I said I can go days forgetting that I’m a diabetic.

But not right now. I’ve been fighting a cold or something and I thought it went away but it’s back, or a close kinsman is back. And bugs mess up my body. Having a bug spikes my blood sugar levels. I know this. I see it. And so I compensate. And I take more insulin, sometimes twice as much. But sometimes, as I have today, I overcompensate and then I have a low reaction which is very bad for my body and my heart and my lungs and my brain and then I crave sugar and take too much.

And then there’s this thing I call sugar pinball. When I’m in control of my blood sugar I can be quite in control and not notice any serious aberrations for weeks. But when I lose control as I have right now, it’s bad. It’s like careening. Do you steer into the turn, out of the turn, do you step on the brakes, do you step on the gas? It’s very hard to regain control.

I get numb in my feet and my fingers. My fingers are numb now. I can feel it. I clench and unclench my hands but it’s useless. It’s like my hands are covered in Icy Hot and they can’t decide which is which. My eyes burn and sting. There’s a furnace in there behind my eyes and I can barely see. I smell sulfur. This is when I know it’s bad. My nostrils are filled with the smell of sulfur. It distresses me that it’s my own body making this smell; or more likely, as with a stroke, it’s my brain that’s making me think I’m smelling sulfur. And here’s a curious one. I feel the pain in my teeth, in my gums, in my jaw. I drink a lot of water because I’m suffering from two things. My blood is thick with sugar. And I’m dehydrated. But drinking the water doesn’t make me feel better. The body gets confused. I think I’m hungry but I know that I’m not. My body wants energy not food. It’s horrible to feel hungry when you’re not.

I’ll take more insulin and hopefully I’ll recover soon. Meanwhile, Murphy has had too many cookies.

I hate the way it makes me feel. But it’s much worse than that. I hate being reminded that I have a disease. Which is the same thing as realizing I am mortal.

SS