I hadn't thought about ol' Rufus in a long time, until I ran across the group of a similar name here on Juvenation. I was probably twelve when I got Rufus, and at the time, I was sort of phasing out the whole stuffed animal thing. This was only accentuated by the fact that the bear was diabetic too. When I was twelve, still freshly diagnosed, I was bitter and looking for excuses to hate things. Rufus, being a diabetic stuffed animal, only fueled my fire. After all, he was diabetic and his life probably sucked just as much as I thought mine did at the time. So, I held a grudge against Rufus for a long time. He sat in my locker at home, in the dark, underneath a baseball helmet and some bats. Looking back, and the group here on the site has certainly helped with this, I realize that I hated that bear because he resembled me, and I hated myself. At the same time, I didn't know very many diabetics. I had not been to a diabetes camp yet, nor had I met anyone else at school with diabetes. So, my world was a lonely one. Other than the children coming into the hospital with obvious onsets of Type II diabetes, my interaction with other diabetics was severely limited. This being said, I wasn't sure what to feel about having another little diabetic around, stuffed or not. I felt alone, and I felt like I was going to be a martyr or something insane like that, so having Rufus given to me as a present from my parents, was confusing to say the least.

I had a conversation with a friend today, and it eventually led to her talking about her dogs, each of them having been named Rufus. I thought this was ridiculous, but then I remembered little Rufus, my diabetic bear, sitting at the bottom of my closet, covered and choked, by dust and heaping piles of clothes. When I thought back on Rufus today, I only felt a sympathy for the bear. It wasn't because he was covered in dust and heaping piles of clothes, or that he had been neglected for ten years, but it was that he was diabetic as well. This sounds ridiculous as I type it, as he is only a stuffed animal, but when my parents gave me that stuffed animal, I failed to see the symbolic significance of this present. They saw how hurt and confused I was, and wanted to help. And that is exactly what Rufus was meant to do. I could talk to him, like I couldn't talk to them or anyone else. Even if he was only a stuffed animal, he was my diabetic bear. He had patches where the injection sites were and even came with his own little testing kit. I was supposed to be able to relate to him, and confide in him my fears and anxieties, but I rejected him, for the most part. In a way, my parents plan did work. When I was most frustrated or hurt or upset, I would yell at the bear and vent at it, working through my problems, even if it was in a somewhat unhealthy way.  I suppose I feel bad for mistreating the bear and, ultimately, regaling my parents attempt at a gift as an ultimate failure. I went home tonight to see them and I brought the bear downstairs to remind them of the gift they gave me 10 years ago. I thanked them for the support they showed through those years. The bear now sits on my TV stand, next to my computer. I think I'll have him type up the next blog.