This summer marks the fifth anniversary of Charlotte's diagnosis. Five years.
On the one hand, I look back and think, "Wow, it's been five years already." A lot has changed in these five years. Ken and I are pretty good at managing this disease, and for better or worse, Charlotte has gotten used to it. She is gaining more knowledge and understanding about being a healthy diabetic, and is now old enough to go to diabetes camp in the summer. Blood sugar checks, insulin doses, and 2am alarms are all part of our normal. When Charlotte was diagnosed, we were so overwhelmed that the thought of reaching any semblance of normal again seemed impossible, but five short years later, here we are, managing diabetes like the rock stars we are.
On the other hand, I look ahead and think, "Wow, it's only been five years." I have to be careful of this thought. If I entertain it too much, I get depressed. Charlotte has been dealing with this for five years, and unless there is a cure, she will be dealing with it for another 70+ years. Looking forward seems endless, like Atlas holding up the world. It's overwhelming, suffocating, too much to deal with. There are moments when this thought wins, and I cannot breathe.
That is why those of us in the diabetic community try to take it one day at a time. If I think about how every single night I am not going to get more than four hours of sleep at a time, I start to lose my grip on sane. If I think about my daughter starting college and me lying awake, worrying about diabetes on top of all the other things college parents worry about, I start to lose my grip on sane. If I think about trying to shop for a wedding dress which hides an insulin pump, I start to lose my grip on sane. So today is today, and tomorrow is tomorrow, and maybe, just maybe, the day after that will be the day she isn't sick anymore. There is where my sane lives.
The craft show is in two weeks.
St. Stephen UMC in Arlington
1800 W. Randol Mill Rd.
9am - 3pm