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.

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