The submissions as stand-alone pieces make me feel like I’m trying to shove limitless emotions into a Ziploc bag, but what kills me is that these were submitted anonymously. There’s still something about diabetes, and the fear and stigma associated with this disease and all its iterations, that keeps people from feeling empowered/supported enough to say this shit out loud.
This week, I received an email from some PR company professing that diabetes is a disease of numbers and control, and when lab work is “in range,” the disease essentially melts away into insignificance.
It’s high time for the psychosocial impactof diabetes to be acknowledged. People living with diabetes aren’t ruled entirely by our pancreases … there’s a lot of heart thrown in there, too.
I test my blood sugars between 8 – 15 times per day, depending on trends, travel, exercise, food, and other variables. I correct highs. I treat lows. I make a lot of decisions based on these numbers, and it scares the hell out of me to think that they might not be right.
“In two weeks. And did you know there is going to be a big fancy dress-up ball? Like a big party for princes and princesses?”
“Yeah. And you get to dress up as a princess, if you’d like. Would you like to dress up as a princess that night?”
“I would. I want to be …”
And here’s where I expected a response of “Cinderella,” or some other generic Disney princess.
“I want to be a Batman Princess. Can I be a Batman Princess?”
Oh hell yes you can.
My DIY craftiness is not a skill I’ve finely tuned. It’s rarely indulged, and frightfully makeshift. I’m not known for my Pinterest prowess, and the closest I’ve come to crafty is my insatiable urge to crochet while low. But I can work the Google, so I set out to figure out how to make a Batman Princess costume for my curious little anti-princess. It was a short, but laborious process going from “hey, that’s a dungeon ballerina” to “nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah BATMAN … PRINCESS!”
The glittery mask and the Batman dress.
First, we needed a mask. Thank you, Amazon, for providing a cheapo plastic Batman mask that was perfectly sized for the Bird’s head.
And, of course, a black leotard (courtesy of Amazon once again) to put the Batman insignia on.
Then I had to pick up some black glitter, because it was time to bedazzle that mask. I though it would be hard to cover the mask with glitter, but I used my finger to spread a thin layer of Elmer’s glue over the mask, and then I dumped black glitter onto it. I did this in stages, and it worked out perfectly. (I also used a pie dish to catch all the spilled glitter, which immediately made me want to make a glitter-goth pie. Next time, Baker Kerri.)
Making the insignia for the leotard was a little trickier, because I’m out of practice with my freehand Bat Signal. (As evidenced by the front of my chemistry notebook from high school. Lots of really decent Batman symbols, but no solid and properly solved scientific equations.) What I did was very simple: I held a piece of printer paper to my computer screen, with the Batman logo on the screen, and traced it with a marker. Then, I took the paper and traced over the outline, pressing down hard, against the paper side of a piece of bright yellow adhesive sheet of felt (found at a local fabric store), leaving an imprint. Using the teeniest, sharpest pair of scissors in my sewing kit, I cut out the Batman logo from the sheet of felt and stuck it to the leotard.
Birdy tried on the leotard, and after wearing it for the briefest of minutes, the felt started to peel away from the fabric. So, using offensively bright yellow thread, I reinforced the Batman logo.
And then I made the tutu. A no-sew tutu which required like six yards of tulle and lots of cutting and tying and the blasted black satin ribbon that I used to tie a bow ended up getting lost in the massive folds of the bright yellow chaos. (I followed this post as a guide.) It was nice and full and looked fun, but my only regret is that it wasn’t soft enough, as about an hour into the Friends for Life banquet, Birdy was telling me that she itched and eventually ended up ditching the tutu skirt.
Just as a note: The tutu ended up being so big and so insane looking that it took up most of the room in Birdy’s suitcase, and when I unzipped said suitcase in the hotel room, the tutu leapt out like the snake from a Snake-in-a-Can-of-Nuts.
Sometimes it’s not about the actual “pricking of the finger” but more the “finding out what the number is.” Here’s a new video post about the power of knowing your numbers, in efforts to not wreck yo self.
I am not a doctor. I am not a certified diabetes educator. I have no medical degree. Nothing on this site should be taken as medical advice, and if you are taking it as medical advice, I suggest you contact your doctor immediately for issues other than diabetes.
This is my diabetes life - if you are interested in making changes to yours, you need to consult your doctor.
If you email me, your personal information will not be shared without your permission and your email address will not be sold to any company or entity.