Averil Gleason

You know what?

I’m angry.

Like really angry. And I’d be even madder if I had the energy. But I don’t.

Truth be told, I’m more exhausted than angry. And I’m scared that while the anger will subside, the exhaustion will never fade.

I woke up before sunrise on Monday morning with blurred vision and a pit in my stomach.

Something was wrong.

I did the first thing I’ve done every morning since I was 6 years old. Check my blood sugar and pray everything is OK.

But in this case, on this particular morning, it wasn’t OK.

My blood sugar was 400. And as a type one diabetic, that was very, very not OK.

With 20 years of experience, I’ve learned that sometimes my blood sugar turns on me for no good reason.

It’s just one of the many unpleasantries that come with the diagnosis I never wanted nor asked for.

I was high. And the only thing that would bring my glucose levels back to its median of 100 was my prized possession: insulin.

I gave myself a quick shot, chugged a bottle of water, and fell back asleep before the day truly began.

My alarm sounded an hour later.

My vision was still fuzzy, my muscles were sore, my head was pounding.

Twenty years as a diabetic, and yet handling the excruciating highs and lows never gets any easier.

I checked my blood again, and was relieved to know the insulin was doing its job.

As the hours passed, my blood sugar was lowering at a rapid pace. This was not good.

One juice box and several glucose tabs later, my blood sugar was finally stabilized.

But that wasn’t the issue any longer.

Sure, my blood sugar was in its target range again. That news seemed to have been lost on my body, however.

The stress that comes with this disease is unbearable at times.

Because I’m not just worrying about my blood sugars.

I’m keeping tabs on how much insulin I use, how often I check my blood.

Each pen prick and each shot costs me.

Now that I’m an adult, I’m learning that diabetes is an expensive disease.

Hundreds of dollars a month are thrown at medicine and supplies that I need to survive. And for what? To feel lifeless when I’m too high or low?

I’m constantly walking a fine line in order to stay within my target blood sugar.

I try to remind myself daily that I am in control of my diabetes, it does not control me.

Remembering that this week was harder than usual.

Work on a Monday is hard enough as it is. To have your body rebelling against you doesn’t help.

But I’m lucky to have a compassionate editor who understands the trials of type one diabetes, and was sure to remind me that my health comes first.

Tomorrow is a new day. A new fight against my failed pancreas. I may be tired, but unlike my pancreas, I’m not a quitter.

Contact Averil Gleason at agleason@fbherald.com.

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