I looked around my room this morning, and I didn't see the room of a diabetic.
I saw the room of a world travelling, train-loving, book-loving human who lives with a lot of colour, has too many clothes, and hasn't redecorated since she was two.
Diabetes isn't anywhere to be seen on my map of the world, in the pictures on my wall, in the train beads strewn across all my display places.
But it's there.
It shows itself with Ruby the diabetes bear on the bed. The glucometer case sitting, unzipped, on the nightstand. The out-of-place looking box full of supplies in the closet. The biohazard bin on the bookshelf. Were you to open my dresser drawers, you would find one full of medical boxes and tubs of glucose tablets. There's an Animas business card on my computer, a sticky note on my desk, a magnet on my board. There's a JDRF shoe magnet there too.
It's not shouting its presence. But it is whispering it.
It's the small things that make us who we are.