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Tuesday, December 20, 2016


They say diabetes is an invisible illness.

And when talking to my coworkers last night, who had literally no idea how much work I have to put in to deal with this, it did feel invisible. When people are shocked to find out that I'm diabetic, it feels invisible. When I don't feel any different from anyone around me, it does feel invisible. When I finally manage to fit everything I need to carry into one tiny little clutch, it feels invisible.

But when I'm trying to get dressed to go out and all of the shirts I want to wear make my pump hard to hide on my waistband; when the bra I'm wearing won't support my pump because of the pretty but frankly annoying little jewel in the middle; when my CGM sensor feels really, really prominent and obvious (even though it didn't this morning and I thought I was used to it and I thought it would be hard to see); that's when it feels visible. So, so, visible.

I wanted to go back on pens because I'm so tired of wearing a box on my waist. I didn't want to try a CGM because I'm scared of not only the constant information it will provide, but the fact that it will always be THERE and so much bigger than a pump site. I decided not to go back on pens because I can't handle that loss of control.

I love what these technologies give me. I love that I CAN go out to dinner, even if I have to take a bunch of stuff with me wherever I go. I love that I am alive, and living, and laughing, and able to have as much fun as anyone else.

But when it feels so easy to see, but nobody else can see it; that's when it's hard to handle.

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