Smokey. Black berets. Martinis. Smooth jazz. Table tapping, fingers snapping, cool, hip, beatnik! Welcome to the Type 1 Diabetes Lounge... at the Wilmette Public Library.
Ok, so no, there was no smoke, martinis, jazz or table tapping, although that still comes to mind everytime I think of "lounge." No, this lounge was in the basement of the library way up north (at least for me) where people who have Type 1 diabetes get together to share their stories, educate one another and laugh. Boy, do they laugh.
I was invited up after meeting the group director, Merle, online. Yes, online. We are part of a listserve called the Diabetes Advocates and when I mentioned I was in Chicago and that I was a blogger, well, that was perfect cause for her to invite me to meet the group of people just like me.
I was kind of nervous, yes, because with the knowledge that I do have, mine is specific to my body, my mind and myself. I'm just now branching out to other groups and people who seem to know about our medical mystery a little better than I do. But along with that, I feel that my documentation of the process is beneficial for that reason.
There's so much information out there, that it's one big heavy overload for someone who doesn't know where to start. At the same time, I always assumed that starting small and explaining things little by little helped people the most when it came to learning about diabetes and what to do when diagnosed.
I digress. So, when I sat there, I had the chance to hear stories of people who have lived with diabetes for over 40, even 50 years. And the one thing that I had to say was that I felt that it was an achievement. Here's the downside to being diabetic: TELLING PEOPLE YOU HAVE IT.
So when my turn finally came, I introduced myself and told them what I do. I write. That's the bottom line, I'm a writer but I've also been living with diabetes for about 19 years. Crazy! I thought to myself. That sounds like such a long time. When I said that, I didn't feel bad, I didn't feel ashamed and most of all, I didn't feel, see, hear the WINCE. What's the wince, you ask? It's when you tell someone you're diabetic and you see their eyes shrink, see the corner of their mouth turn down and maybe, if you're lucky, see their bottom lip stick out in a pout. The wince is the person you tell feeling sorry for you. But not here. Not at the lounge.
Ann, the comedienne of the group, was lively, attentive, curious and said, "Woo!" or something of the like when people announced how long they've been living with diabetes. It almost reminded me of going to an AA meeting and announcing how long you've been sober. But in this case, it was kind of like an achievement. I felt like saying, "I'm here, I'm alive. I haven't had anything crazy happen. I'm in control and I've been diabetic for almost 19 years! This is phenomenal!"
It was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Everything you said, someone could relate. Anything you wanted to know, there was patience and explanation. People who had been diagnosed 50 years ago or 3 years ago were all getting something out of talking to each other about the daily trials and tribulations of frequent urniation, low blood sugar and the fact that although people tell you they have the miracle water that can cure your diabetes, THERE IS NO CURE YET! And least of all, it won't be cured by drinking holy water, eating 10 mangos and then biking 80 miles or whatever crazy remedies people have for you.
It was nice to converse with people who have the same problems you do. Yet, most of the time, we can't say they're "problems." It's a way of life. Knowing that sometimes I'm going to feel weak, awkward or sick is just that. It's GOING to happen and as much as I'd like to stop it, I can't. It's something you learn to deal with and keep going.
A friend of mine on Facebook has a daughter who is Type 1 and he says that she is the bravest person he knows. That's very true. Type 1 people are brave, but in a weird way, we have no other choice. There are things we have to do to stay alive, to eat, to function like everyone else. And to think, as Merle put it, "Our bodies don't make one hormone." Yep. Just one and look at how critical it is.
If anything, the group made me feel empowered. It made me feel normal. In that little conference room in the basement of the library, we were the majority. Type 1 diabetics who were part of sports clubs, lawyers, nurses, accountants, who went on with their lives healthier than non-diabetics; who have children and travel the world; who work for nonprofits and who are still new to the lifestyle-- we were the majority and we all worked the same way. Checking blood sugar wasn't weird. It was normal. Talking about pumps, needles, glucose tablets, Medtronic MiniMeds and Dexcom sensors, lows, highs and all that jazz, that was part of our vocabulary. It was great to finally have someone speak your language, care about your health in a way only you could understand and give insight into the advancements of diabetes treatment and care. I had never had that before. In a world where only 5 percent of all diabetics accounted for are Type 1, it's difficult to find. But I found it and it was awesome.
I can't wait to go back.
10 Jun, 2011--
Source: http://www.chicagonow.com/blogs/living-with-diabetes/2011/06/type-1-diabetes-lounge.html
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