Sad Sunday

There are times in life where your next move begins with words you speak loudly to yourself long before you have even a HOPE of believing them.
Today has been a bad day. I’m mopey and I’m struggling with getting my blood sugar levels high enough to feel truly human.

One of the ‘conditions’ I’m currently dealing with is an inexplicable surge in natural insulin production. Now, as a type 1 diabetic, I shouldn’t really have much if any insulin being produced naturally in my body. Therefore I have to inject before EACH meal (yes. Many ouch a day). Now with no real understanding of HOW my body is doing this magical thing, or what triggers it, or when it could happen what happens is I MUST inject my insulin, like normal, at the normal levels. This is so that if today is normal and no other insulin is lying around my endocrinal system, I can live and I like living.

Diabetes funny lol   Addicted to insulin

HOWEVER! If it is NOT a normal day, and my body kickstarts its own insulin thing, then uh-oh…too much insulin in my system. I crash. My sugar dips too low. It struggles to come up. I feel weak, lethargic, like I’m underwater. Or in a really bad funhouse dream.

I sit among people to remind myself I’m human, but I’m not really capable of being my normal sparkly self. I sit there offering opinions on conversations that passed 2 hours ago, but only just registered. Or I get what you’re saying, and I have thoughts, REAL THOUGHS on the matter, but my brain won’t put the words together and push them out of my mouth. I sit there frustrated and tired, so tired, so tired you cannot imagine the tiredness. SO tired.

She gets it

Then when the sugar levels finally struggle back up to a respectable place I just feel defeated. And tired. So tired.

Today was such a day.
I was by my in-laws, and I usually LOVE being there. We catch up, I chat to my in-law parentals while the kids frolic. Hi-jinks ensue and good times are had by all. Yesterday I was lethargic lump who only had enough energy to consistently yell at my beloved, high-energy 3 year old (whose ferocious morning hugs only prove he is incapable of holding grudges and oh how thankful I am!) and to mumble things like, “No Zane, we don’t eat electricity” to my 11 month old gnawing on the business end of a plugged-in multi-outlet extension cord.

What I’m currently experiencing are feels of fail.
But I refuse to give in.

This is but a moment. A season.
The first time I had a baby, my body took 18 months to stop doing screwy things.
I gained about a million pounds, and had several thousand tests run before we figured that what had been wrong all along was simply diabetes, run amok. Now that I’m here again, with inexplicable (soul-crushing) weight gain and a thousand unanswered questions, holding on to the memory that once I was sick then okay again, and the hope than now I’m sick but will be okay again, again.

So okay fine.
Today was a day of trapping bed-jumping 3 year olds beside my recliner.
Today was a day of watching my baby eat a small dog’s face with only a vague idea that dog drool=gross.

I will still be hopeful and brave and stuffed to the gills with courageous cookies.
That is now for sure a thing.



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