I hate snakes! They are creepy, crawly, slithery creatures
with beady eyes and forked tongues who
crawl on their bellies with their face to the ground. They hide away in
dark creepy places ready to chomp, squeeze, or envenomate the unlucky who cross
their path or look like lunch. I hate them to the point of phobia - they
just give me the willies! Gaa-Ross!
Imagine my reaction when I learned that not
only had to touch a snake, but own one, care for one and keep one alive or I
would lose my life. That, my friend, is what getting a diagnosis of
diabetes felt like to me. I got a snake and I had no choice in the matter.
I didn't want it, I feared it (years of nursing will do that to you - you
know what it is capable of), and the thought of it repulsed me. Yes,
repulsed me. I didn't want this. I
remember feeling pity for people I knew who had to bear such a burden and
suffer with such a horrible plight. Diabetes was creepy, scary, and
treacherous, with sharp pointy parts, strict feeding habits and the potential
to kill me. How could I ever live my
life with a thing I feared so much?
The thing about fear is that you can't
stay in fight or flight mode 24/7. Fear can be a great change agent for a
while, but eventually you even get used to constant fear. You get used to
your snake. I sort of got used to mine.
Some days I was so scared I did nothing but care for the snake. Other
days I left the snake to fend for itself and took a break from carb counting,
finger sticks and portion control. Neither
extreme did much to make me a happy, well-adjusted person. Being an ER
nurse during this time, I saw "snake victems" every day. Those unfortunate souls who hadn't managed
their disease well or just by sheer bad luck were blind, missing toes and
limbs, on dialysis, demented, crippled by stroke or heart disease, the list
goes on and on. They didn't look happy. I feared that would be me.
My type A self eventually got so tired of
not being the perfect diabetic with blood sugars normal every time. I beat myself up for not being a better snake
handler. I didn't want the thing
anymore and thought I would lose my mind as I swung between taking care of the
snake and living my life as I wanted. By
the grace of God a co-worker knew a licensed professional counselor that had
helped her and encouraged me to talk to her.
I ended up learning new ways to cope, new skills, and new ways of
thinking. I think the first "aha" moment was that the snake and
I were one in the same. It was now part of my life and I didn't want to
hate part of me. Hating anything is exhausting and depleting. I had to learn how to love my snake. To
love me. All of me.
The first thing was to get rid of the
image of a snake thrust upon me (they still creep me out) and reframe my new
reality. I now think of diabetes as a
child I need to take care of; a beautiful, younger, fragile girl who needs some
TLC, good food, medicine on time and a lot of understanding. It is much
easier to care for that aspect of me and love her. That child has taught me many things, among
them patience, acceptance, and tolerance. Most importantly, she taught me
that I was worth it, my life is worth living, and I can chose not to be a victim.
Life is much easier now that I am a caregiver and calling the shots (pun
intended!). I am happy to hold her hand,
test her blood sugar, feed her well, and enjoy the life we live together. It no longer feels like a burden, I don't
hate anything about my life (well maybe when I don't have internet
connectivity!). I can actually say I love having diabetes, because I
can't hate a part of my life. It is just who I am and I accept that.
Patricia
