Pre D

I’m watching pre-season football right now.  Not a huge fan.  Never have been.  But, can sit through a game.  A lot better at it if there’s some snacking involved, like the Superbowl.  You can always find tortilla chips, extremely salty my preference, to munch on during the biggest football game of the season.  And the commercials are amazing.  Love them.  Live for them.  Even exaggerate for them.  Kind of like what I did just now.

I clearly remember the Superbowl right before I was diagnosed with type 1.  It’s kind of hard to enjoy when you feel like crap.  My numbers were so high, consistently high, that I was guzzling an abnormal amount of water, using the toilet quite a lot (that was kind of a gross way to say that…  Rewind.  Reboot).  And I’m sure I was cranky, something my family remembers probably a lot better than I do.  Mean things constantly popping into my head.  I was not the innocent, angelic little girl I am now.  I have changed for the better, and as I grow older, I just keep getting sweeter with every year.  Yep, sweeter.  Mmmhmmm.  Don’t believe me?  Well whatever you do, do not ask my family.  Comprende?  Muy bien.

Pub Mix, a scrumptious (I love that word!) assortment of pretzel sticks, and pieces of rye bread, and all sorts of stuff, was just part of the icky feeling in my stomach.  The first part was plainly because I had diabetes and didn’t know it, meaning eating was raising my blood sugar higher and higher, making me feel worse and worse.  This is where the addicting Pub Mix came into play.  I kept eating and eating, while I curled up into the fetal position on the couch.  Ow.  I felt completely sick to my stomach.  And then a couple weeks later, I went to the doctor, and they said I had diabetes, and they told me all about what it meant, they taught my parents how to give a shot, they taught me how to test my blood sugar, and blah blah blah, a weekend later, I went home.

A class Valentine’s Day party came up soon after, and it was pretty scary playing Bingo.  I couldn’t see the letters.  Everything was so blurry, I just couldn’t make out which letter was which.  When you’ve been high for so long and you start coming into the target range, your body and eyesight has to adjust.  Still pretty frightening, though.  I remember wearing the cutest boots that day, and eating jello in the shape of a heart.  Weird things I remember.  You can’t choose the things you recall.  I wish I could though, because then I’d remember what I was doing the Christmas of 1987 at 2:23 am.  Woops.  Wasn’t even born.  I guess I have to pick another date.

So it was a really big life change, this little pesky thing called diabetes.  But something I had to do, and so did my family.  But whatever.  It was that or die.  Dying doesn’t sound fun, less fun than having to test a few times a day.  Not too shabby.  Key word: too. 

But it’s not my dream, Mom.  It’s yo-   What’s going on with me?  I’m being Cheesy Disney fiml-ified.  Somebody stop me!--In the name of love.  Ack!