I don’t get hit for six by diabetes much anymore. (Before we go on, please applaud that sport-ish reference there. I really must be growing as a person.)

Those days that would almost be a write-off thanks to a hypo that moved in, set up house and then wouldn’t clear out for hours, or hypers that made me think my insulin had turned to water and made my head so foggy and cloudy and stormy (all the weather analogies), just don’t seem to happen these days. I don’t have nights spoilt by erratic glucose levels and I don’t feel the hangover of lows and highs the way I once did.

This is all good news.

The daily impact of diabetes – both physically and emotionally – has diminished considerably and for that, I am eternally grateful to the magicians who have made Loop available to technology-fools like myself.

But this week? This week, diabetes has reared its ugliest of heads and I have been hit for six. My post the other day was called ‘Waking the beast’ and I think perhaps that is what has happened here. Except the once familiar beast is different now. It’s mutated into something I don’t recognise, and don’t know how to manage.

I don’t even have a word for what it is that is going on right now and if I’m perfectly honest, I don’t understand it. I thought that after my appointment with my endo and my ‘all is well’ complications screening conversation I’d be back to feeling less burdened and less fraught.

Yeah; about that. I was wrong. I certainly did feel lighter as soon as I left my endocrinologist appointment the other day…at least, I did for a few hours. (I even wrote about it!) And then I didn’t.

This week, I’ve found myself lying awake late into the night, thinking about diabetes and the scary things that I really don’t like to think about. During the day mind wanders to that dark place in my conscience, and I feel my breath catching and my heartbeat quickening for no reason.

As I lie awake at night, or am alone in my car driving to work, or standing in the kitchen preparing dinner, I suddenly feel diabetes in my body, flowing through my veins, being absorbed into my bones, twisting itself into my brain. And it’s been winding itself into my dreams when I finally do fall asleep.

What is this? It’s not burnout. To be honest, I do so few diabetes tasks these days that it’s not about being overwhelmed by daily diabetes. I am not ‘over’ diabetes. I don’t even feel that I hate it.

Perhaps the reason that it doesn’t make sense to me is because I can’t point to something and know what I need to fix. This isn’t a matter of needing to do some basal tweaking, or adjust what I am eating, or pre-bolus a little sooner. This has nothing to do with day-to-day diabetes. This is beyond that. This is deeper than that.

I feel diabetes – in, around and through my body and mind. This is within the very core of my diabetes. And the very core of me.

This photo I took at MONA last month of Pat Brassington’s ‘Cornerstone’ seemed a perfect image to accompany this post. (Click for more details of the artist.)

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