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The Walk.

The JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes (the RI edition) took place on Sunday at Roger Williams Park. And Team Six Until Me took part for the first time. We were we a little team – only seven walkers, but we raised a fair amount of money. The team consisted of myself, The Boy, Mom and Oystein, Batman, her BoyWonder, and Best Nurse Friend. We wore sneakers. And matching JDRF t-shirts. I was the only one on the team wearing a pump, but definitely not the only one at the walk.

We raised $3,000 as a team. I was impressed. And very happy with the results.

Six Until Me didn’t have team t-shirts, but a number of teams did. The best team t-shirts I saw were these vibrant yellow ones. About 30 people were milling about in these shirts that read “I’m Walking For Steve.” Every time I turned around, another Steve Supporter.

I couldn’t stand not knowing.

“Excuse me,” I approached a woman with dark brown hair, a sports bottle, and a Walking for Steve shirt. “Who is Steve?”

“Steve? He’s up there. He’s eight years old, diagnosed two years ago. He just got his pump!” I’m not sure if this woman was his mother or aunt or just someone who supported Steve, but she was beaming with pride at the accomplishments of young Steve. She gestured up the path a ways.

There, bouncing in and out among the sunshine colored shirts, was a young kid with spikey brown hair and an impish grin. He was carrying two sticks and poking them against the ground as he marched on. Flanking him on either side were a few other kids, all proclaiming via t-shirt, “I’m Walking for Steve.”

His t-shirt was bright yellow, too. It read, “I’m Steve.”

Verdict Overturned.

So I worked hard on my bloodsugar control. Tested pretty constantly. Blew through about a bottle of strips every two days or so.

And I went to the gym. Nothing outrageous and I am by no means a certified professional (as exhibited by my wardrobe’s lack of pink sweatpants), but I went. And went consistently, save for the car accident fiasco.

I saw my doctor, too, and determined that my blood pressure is just too high for a diabetic. And since I’m not overweight and still relatively young, medication was deemed the appropriate treatment method. Altace 2.5 mg became a part of my daily routine.

And I talked about it. I told you guys. I told my patient and ever-supportive boyfriend. I talked about it with my mom. My friends learned alongside me. Talking helped to alleviate my fear. Conversations confirmed that I wasn’t alone and I never would be.

Now I can happily report that, after my eye exam and full dilation yesterday afternoon, that my eyesight is better than 20/20 and that little bastard of a cotton wool spot is gone. I’m back to “IDDM, Uncomplicated.”

Tomorrow marks nineteen years that I’ve been a diabetic.

An uncomplicated one.

Sometimes you just can’t win.

And sometimes … you can.


The television clicks on and I see those same familiar rooftops peeking out over miles and miles of filthy, rising water. People trapped on the islands that their homes have become, begging for rescue. For solace. For help.

I’m not sure how to react.

I’m not very good with disasters. I am riddled with anxiety as it is. Seeing this terrible manifestation of a natural disaster, I want to help but I don’t even know where to start. To see these people, to see their trials, their anguish, is to witness a suffering I can barely conceptualize.

I wanted to write something as heart felt and evocative as Dee’s post. His words affected me more than than the images I’ve been innundated with from CNN or MSNBC. I couldn’t say it better. This time, I’ll just refer you to his link and urge you to make a donation to an organization that provides relief for these people who need help from someone. Even that one dollar makes all the difference.


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