It may be the gray clouds today. That could be it. Maybe that's why I'm moody.
My blood sugars have been excellent today. 106 mg/dl. 89 mg/dl. 78 mg/dl. 141 mg/dl. 132 mg/dl. 112 mg/dl. 99 mg/dl. 113 mg/dl. Nothing too out of the ordinary.
My insulin pump is safely stowed in the pocket of my black capri pants. You can't really see it at all and it's barely noticeable as I sit here. Even the tubing is behaving itself, remaining coiled and concealed in the waistband of my pants.
My meter is stashed in my purse. No rogue test strips litter my desk. The diabetic white noise is at a minimum today. My desk looks just like everyone elses.
Work has been so busy lately that I haven't had time to over-think anything. Emails keep cropping up in my inbox, assignments keep crossing my desk, and the constant din of work noise rolls in and out like midnight ocean waves.
Life is crashing forward at an incredible pace. My wedding date comes closer every time I blink. I've been at dLife for over a year now. I'll be marking my twenty-first year with diabetes in three weeks.
Lately, maybe compared to all the chaos, diabetes seems less. Less in my face. Less cumbersome. Less intrusive.
This morning, as a low blood sugar whispered in my ear and woke me up at 5 in the morning, as I looked in the medicine cabinet and saw my Quick-Serter next to my bottle of Lovespell, as I clipped my pump to my bra while I dressed, it still seemed less.
I'm reminded of the video I watched on Julia's site. This is our "normal." Normal means tough little pads of scar tissue on my fingertips. Normal means quashing down that bit of guilt if I decide to have a Hershey Kiss at the office. Normal means reaching down to my thigh and quietly disconnecting the pump while he kisses me. Normal means juice by the bed. Normal means tired rings of red skin left behind by sensor patches.
I can't imagine what it's like to be diagnosed as an adult. I can't imagine what it's like to be the parent of a diabetic child. I can't imagine what type 2 feels like, or gestational, or what it's like to take care of someone with diabetes.
This is the only normal I know. I actually feel surprised sometimes when I notice that people's mp3 players aren't, in fact, insulin pumps. Doesn't everyone have an insulin-to-carbohydrate ratio? Am I the only one at the gym who is testing blood glucose levels in the locker room?
It's become such a part of what I do that it's seamless. I don't even notice anymore.
And for some reason, that's making me strangely sad today.