It is hard to pinpoint when diabetes actually started damaging my body. From 1993 until 2004 I didn’t see a doctor. I didn’t have insurance, though hindsight and foolishly did have too much pride to even consider Medicaid.
I worked in food for most of that time- a combination of reasons, all poor and not worth the time to delve into. The point is there were plenty of signs.
I made small changes prior to seeing a doctor. The symptoms really started showing up when I moved to a sedintary job. I was moving less, eating more junk food and hiking Coca Cola’s profits. Huzzah!
Then last year I made big changes. I was advised (still am) to give myself a break. In some ways I agree and adjust at times. But I am a hardcase, the Roland Deschain variety, especially with myself. “The man in black fled across the desert and the gunslinger followed”. They are both me… and a splash of Eddie Dean.
I pushed my limits on Saturday. It blasted my Sunday, bled into my Monday. Insomnia, grade 10.
When I finally woke up to the screams of my son (his stethascope slapped his smile away) I had achieved four hours of mostly uninterupted sleep.
I took my Mother in Law home, put Ben down for a nap and drew some dish water.
After the dishes, to the Ottoman to fold laundry, then write. Which I did.
Because someone has an infirmity that isn’t signaled by a boil on their nose does not mean they do not suffer.
On my end, I find the improvement, however incremental, inspiring. I learn. I move on. I move up. I ascend.