This was my freshman year of high school. At the time, I was still in band, playing trumpet, though I certainly did not want to be playing anymore. Looking back, I probably should have kept playing. I was good. At any rate, I was to quit at the end of the year. We had a class every day dedicated to learning band music and practicing for shows and competitions-- all things I was growing tired of. My resentment of the music we were playing rose with every day, and eventually I had enough. For some reason, I thought the music we were playing was boring and too easy for someone who had aspirations to pursue music in its most challenging form, jazz. In fact, at this time, jazz was all I was listening to and playing at home, so it's not like I was actually learning the music we were playing in class. This was reflected in my poor test grades and general lack of enthusiasm. But, eventually, my hatred, if that isn't too strong a word, for the class and the music, reached a peak and I decided that being there was no longer necessary. I started slow, only going to the teacher with "blood sugar issues" every three or four days, requesting a pass to the nurse and leaving for the remainder of the period. What I really did was go to the lunch that occurred during the class and ate my first lunch of the day with my friends. They enjoyed having me there, and typically did not ask questions as to why I was there. Then I started going to the nurse every day. Each day, I walked to the front of the class, usually after warm-ups, as a sign of good faith I suppose, and he knew exactly where I wanted to go. So, I went. I went and I went. I never had blood sugar problems, at least not at this time of the day, before football and practices after school, but the lie only got more and more complex with every day that passed. I told the teacher that they were changing my insulins and it was throwing me out of whack. After that, I told him I was growing resistant to my insulin and I couldn't possibly know how much insulin was actually getting through my body to do its job. Interestingly enough, I actually thought he believed all the things I was saying. People's general lack of knowledge on diabetes, at least in my mind, is strong enough, that with the right words and the right look on your face, any condition can be sold. I've actually used the insulin resistance thing a few times since then. I would laugh all the way down the hall, skipping even, thinking I had pulled off the perfect caper once again, and again, and again. And my friends were always happy to see me. So I did it every day for the rest of the semester, roughly 3 months. I mean, how long could I have expected this last? How long could I possibly be ill every day? Well, after several months of terrible health, my teacher caught on. He started checking my attendance logs for my other classes and found that I had been in perfect accord with their policies. After this came to light, and my visits were getting longer and longer, he began giving me the look like I think I know what you are doing, Josh. I will catch you. But, naturally, I didn't notice until after it was too late. Naturally. Then one day, after I left class, pretending to go to the nurse again, he followed me to lunch. He stayed far enough behind me that I couldn't exactly get the feel that he was there, but once I sat down at the table, he came right up to me, and said, "Josh, we need to talk." He took me to the principals office and sat me down, giving me the diatribe that he knew I wasn't going to the nurses' office and he had been checking their records for the past few weeks. After this, I felt bad for having lied so much. But, I started going back to class and even got the solo in our Christmas show that year, which was a little surprising considering the circumstances. I never used diabetes as an excuse after that day, but it was mostly because I knew that he wouldn't believe me.
So, I say all this, meant to be a little funny, a little informative, but what are the consequences? Obviously, I could never even mention the word diabetes again around this teacher, which in turn made my crying wolf scheme backfire when I did actually have a problem that needed to be addressed. This has obvious implications. The thing most appalling by my actions as a teenager, particularly this situation, was that I had created a persona whether I liked it or not, and that persona was a very negative one, not just on myself, but on the other diabetics at the school, in the community, and especially those attempting to better the world for diabetics. My selfish action had taken its toll, not just on me, but on those that would be coming through and the people that would undoubtedly come into contact with this teacher and the people that he told the story to. I had crippled an image that was already crippled. And for that, I apologize. My wife hates the word apologize, mostly because in her native tongue, it is a very impersonal way of saying you're sorry or expressing regret for something, but here, I feel it is an expression of my willingness to say that I am sorry to a large group of people, and express remorse for debilitating an image we try so feverishly to build and maintain, just so we can be understood by the general public. This may be the last Malingering Series I write for this reason. I did not mean to glorify what I had done, simply show what I had done and leave interpretation to you. But, I feel this may have been lost, due in part to my lack of clarity and focus. Hopefully, you did gain a little something from, if nothing else, that I am an idiot.