Readers flooded me with advice after my columns earlier this week about diabetes. Thank you everybody, both for the practical tips and the warm sentiments. I truly felt embraced.
Some shared huge amounts of information: web pages and podcasts, books and lists. They overflowed with culinary suggestions.
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Others were delightfully concise.
"Have to cut down on bread," was the entirety of Virginia M.'s email. (I decided to use just the last initial of readers' last names to spare them any online blowback).
Some were spiritual, offering prayers and good wishes. They shared stories of personal tragedy.
"Our 28-year-old daughter died from complications of diabetes," wrote Robert N. "Our daughter never wanted to accept. She was diagnosed at a very young age and it was an effort to keep her healthy. So many doctors, so many hospital visits. Wore all of us out … and finally her body just gave up."
Several wrote about their young children. Now when I begin wallowing in self-pity, I rebuke myself: "Show some spine; there are 4-year-olds coping with this."
The fight brings some families closer together. Mary Lou O. wrote that her 19-year-old granddaughter was diagnosed earlier this year and it has been a bonding experience for them:
"Our [physician] gave her an order to attend educational meetings with two very helpful diabetic RN/Dietitian/Nutritionist ladies. I attended those meetings with my granddaughter and we both learned a lot about necessary lifestyle food changes. "
She sent me the nutritionists' business cards — there's a lot of networking, trying to navigate the system.
A positive tone ran through my emails. Some were more enthusiastic, frankly, than I am quite ready to accept.
"Welcome to Club Diabetes!" wrote Royal B. Which made me shudder, a little, for its Tod Browning "One of us! One of us!" quality.
Email gets a bad name, but I found readers, perhaps because they take a moment to gather their thoughts, responded better than some of my actual friends in the real world.
"That's horrible," a colleague exclaimed when I gave him the news, really getting his back into that second word. He then proceeded to tell me about Ron Santo having his legs amputated — several people shared the experience of the heroic Cubs Hall of Famer, never pausing to consider whether it perhaps is not the story I want to hear right now. There was a bit of that.
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I hope you'll continue to write about this, you've taken us with you on so many journeys and this one especially may help/save many. Nobody knows what's lurking inside. It's a universe in there, always influx as nature breaks us down into nothing.
ReplyDeleteNeil - I understand your shock. However, you will get used to it. Trust me on this. It's not a death sentence and you will be able to live and enjoy life.
ReplyDeleteVery sorry to hear about your illness. It sounds like you have a great support system, which is essential. I know you've heard plenty of advice and encouragement, both useful and useless, but if I can add one more from experience: trust in time. Over time you'll find a routine that will work for managing this condition and it become second nature, the new normal. You'll miss things less and might not even think of them much. You'll find joy and distraction in other things. Just give it time.
ReplyDeleteBesides offering condolences and moral support, if I may also suggest using your platform to highlight the absolute travesty and hell that is the healthcare system in this country. The nightmarish maze of bureaucracy and sheer nonsense that people already suffering from serious illness must go through, which might still cost them every penny they'd earned and the fact we're the only developed nation that does this to its citizens every day needs more exposure and scrutiny. We shouldn't and can't accept this as normal.
Delete(an aside for the Admin....having trouble reading the full article online. Got this weird message:
ReplyDeleteGoogle Chrome seems to have trouble seeing "everygoddamnday.com" -- enter "Everygoddamnday" into the search engine and click on the link below instead. Sorry for the inconvenience -- they're computers, they do strange things. -- The management".
I think the full article will appear in my print newspaper once it arrives. Just wanted you to know I tried the search engine advice, a different device and different browser, all for naught. Boo.)
Fuck gloomy people; you got this.
ReplyDeleteI had the same problem as Jill earlier this morning, but it's fixed now. I think most of us can figure out who Eric Z is. Glad to hear about his dad.
ReplyDeleteYou might consider allulose as a substitute for regular sugar.
ReplyDeleteUsually, a response of "That's horrible," to bad news is not really the most encouraging response one wants to hear. Ron Santo's story could have been told with a little more tact, and more consideration for Mr. S's feelings, and definitely without the amputations. The orange kitty story falls into the same category.
ReplyDeleteAs a Cub, Ron Santo was able to conceal his type 1 diabetes for a dozen MLB seasons, fearing it would force him into early into retirement. The methods of regulating diabetes in the 1960s and 1970s were not as advanced as they are today.
Santo gauged his blood sugar levels based on his moods, and if he felt his blood sugar was low, he would snack on a candy bar in the clubhouse.
Apparently, he did not inject himself with insulin. Being found with a hypodermic syringe, complete with needle, would have been the end of his MLB career. Santo did not reveal his struggle with diabetes until the age of 31, in 1971. He was first diagnosed with the disease at the age of 18, and was given a life expectancy of 25 years.
After 1979, Santo endorsed the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation's annual Ron Santo Walk to Cure Diabetes in Chicago. He helped raise over $65 million for the foundation. In 2002, he was named the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation's "Person of the Year."
In 2004, when he was 64, Santo and his battle against diabetes were the subject of a documentary, "This Old Cub." The film was written, co-produced and directed by Santo's son, Jeff. As the owner of a copy of it, I recommend it highly.
You are the third person I know who has been diagnosed with Type 1 later in life. You may be the best equipped to handle it because of your past and ongoing recovery experience. I’m still sorry you have to navigate diabetes, though. Cede fortunae — sometimes we are stronger than we know.
ReplyDelete