Scene: me at the imaging center for my 3-moth CT scan (I also have cancer) - getting an IV put in by the tech - we’re discussing needles and blood draws:
me: Yeah… I’ve been diabetic for 35 years now, since I was 3, so I guess I’m kinda used to the needles.
tech: Well, at least it’s not AIDS. At least it’s manageable.
Here’s the thing. I’m never looking for sympathy - that’s not my thing, does me no good, don’t want it. But for the love of whatever god(s) you believe in - STOP MINIMIZING DIABETES. It’s lethal, it’s progressive (not in a society is evolving kind of way either , but in a it gets worse and worse the longer you have it kind of way)…. it’s a lot of things. Easy isn’t one of them. Insignificant isn’t one of them. SELF-INFLICTED ISN’T ONE OF THEM.
I know I’ll never get this message out there. But to those reading (because I know you’re all diabetics or love a diabetic … let’s be honest, we’re the only ones who care) - I have mad respect for all of you (all of US). We are all warriors. When people say to me “God only gives you what he knows you can handle….” I think to myself, that’s a comforting notion, but honestly it’s more like - you adapt and learn to deal with it … or die. So - take credit for that shit. You’re a badass, and I salute you.
The morning had begun with a long lazy
fuck, since she had come in after he had gone to sleep. It was one of
those mornings where she could actually sleep in the same bed with
him without building a wall of pillows between them to keep him from
accidentally rolling into her in the night. So he’d woken atop her
and started nibbling on her ear, till she moaned and they had buried
themselves in the sheets for awhile with kisses…and other things
until he rolled off her, promising her coffee and hot croissants from
the bakery around the corner.
She’d had precisely enough time to
make the bed and freshen up before he was back looking smug. It was
an odd rotation of lovers they had, but they had made it work. It was
nice for this very brief window of time to pretend that either of
them could be domestic. As if Netflix and takeout was easy or normal
for them. She’d had him take an apartment nearby. She couldn’t spend
all her time there, but for one brief moment it was nice to have a
steady lover, a source of support and comfort.
Lara could see the weariness in Oberon
lifting little by little the safer she was, the happier Robin was,
the nearer the children were, the safer he felt they all were and
Lara felt a little bad about that. She knew she’d given him a false
Utopia, that every single name on that list knew what happened next,
but the Utopia was the only gift she could give him before she
It had gotten so bad that she had a
section in his closet. She had a toothbrush. They had domestic fights
over stupid little things that the other one did. Like he played
annoying music straight through important phone calls. Or that she
compulsively organized things wherever she was until he couldn’t find
though was a quiet day…the calm before the storm…so in the fall
afternoon light she had laid him out on a soft blanket and dragged
him down into the soft fur-like substance with her, then grabbed a
bag she had brought with her. There were all kinds of intimate things
to do with a lover, but one of the slowest and most patient that Lara
rarely got to do was Henna. So she’d straddled his hips while he lay
face down in the blanket and the tv played and begun the painstaking
art from the top of his shoulder down into the middle of his back.
know I love you, right?” she said eventually, as she traced the
curve of a flower. “That I will always love you. No matter what
happens. I know I fought you for a long time about it. But I need you
to know that now. To know it in your bones, so deeply that you always