Of interest - Numbers (Type 2 - NOT Type 1)
NUMBERS
I’ve learned telephone numbers, birthdates, social security numbers,
driver’s licenses, and fax numbers, but it wasn’t until recently that I
fully realized the impact of numbers in my life.
After two years of not feeling well and praying for more energy, my
doctor and I began the search for a cause. I woke up in the middle of the
night with a racing heart, a feeling that I was going to pass out and never
wake up again. Sometimes these spells came during the day, suddenly and
terrifyingly.
First came the blood pressure and pulse numbers to watch. Then came
the cholesterol and triglyceride counts. As a result, fat content numbers
and percentages were read, counted, and calculated.
Then came the new numbers that detailed the level of my blood sugar.
Results: High. Declaration: "Mrs. Lay, you are a diabetic."
Now I have new numbers to add to my cast of many.
I left the doctor’s office afraid, confused, and frustrated that my
life had just become more complicated, that the necessary act of eating and
planning meals was becoming a career. I questioned God and prayed that the
doctor was wrong.
But more tests showed that the doctor hadn’t been wrong. I looked at
my four-year-old daughter and cried. Would I live to see her children?
Numbers again. A daily carb count and the grams of carbs in my food
must come before taste or familiarity. Grocery shopping became a lesson in
mathematics. My once quick excursions to the store soon changed into
lengthy reading sessions. I considered taking a lawnchair along.
On my first trip to buy groceries after learning of my diabetes, I was
shocked and frustrated at the sugar content of the food and drinks I had
previously enjoyed. The majority of what I picked up was returned to the
counter.
Too much fat.
Too much sugar.
Too much of both.
I became angry at the thought of the food, full of these culprits of
bad health, waiting on the shelves for unsuspecting customers.
Wasn’t there anything I could just enjoy, I shouted at a bottle of
catsup? Anything. Something that wouldn’t cause guilt, fear, or affect my
health.
Then, I saw it. A can of sardines. I used to love them when I was a
kid. I shook my head. There had to be something wrong with them too. I
turned over the can and stared in wondrous surprise at the low fat and
sugar content.
Like a girl on her wedding day staring at her new husband, my emotions
took hold. I clutched the sardines and cried. I glanced around to make
sure no one was watching my display.
As the first year has passed, I’ve found my attitude changing. I’ve
met and read of others with adult-onset diabetes. I’ve found that it is
life-changing, yet, not life-disturbing unless allowed to become that way.
Friends have asked what has kept me motivated to continue walking, to
stay on my diet, to lose the weight, to go on with my normal activities.
I tell them, fear of complications and wanting to feel better. But, I
know it’s much more.
It’s the joy in my young daughter’s eyes as we play ball in the
backyard or laugh together at the amusement park. It’s the times of
friendship, intimacy, and planning for the future with my husband. It’s
the conversations and good times we have with our friends. It’s the
satisfaction and fulfillment of seeing my writing published and of speaking
to school kids.
People who’ve dealt with cancer in their lives or other diseases
struggle to understand that they are still loved and have a place in life.
I’ve talked with some who say that others look at them differently when
they know. Then, they see themselves as little more than a vessel for
their illness. Yet God has given me so much more.
I am a diabetic. My mother is a diabetic and her mother before her as
well. But even more, I am a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend,
writer, neighbor, speaker, Sunday School teacher, club president, teacher
to my daughter, companion to my husband.
Although I carry my diabetes with me, it’s only a small part of who I
am. It took months to accept this, to understand that I have a full life
ahead of me, the same as the day before my doctor’s announcement.
I learned this from my four-year-old daughter.
"Sweetheart, mommy is…well, kinda sick," I explained one day when
she asked about why I stuck my finger every morning.
I went into a long, yet diluted explanation of my diabetes, that I
couldn’t eat things with sugar and that I had special medicine to take.
She listened patiently, then said, "I’m sorry." After a moment, she
took my hand. "Mommy?"
"Yes?" I asked.
"But can you still play with me?"
I grabbed her in my arms and said, "You bet."
And life has gone on. And I number every blessing it brings.
((from Jan — the sardines probably had a heavy sodium content - another
number to count))