I've called D many things (never D, though). In high school, it was funny, and only in a you-had-to-be-there kind of way, to call it diathreetes. Who knows. In college, as I started writing, in a melodramatic flee, I called it diableedsme. After all of this, I think I still prefer the Texas twang of "diabeetis" and sometimes that hard 'i' sound becomes a 'u' in "diabetus", especially with Willford Brimley. That's diversity! Since I've been on Juvenation, I've seen many of you call it D. I usually associate D with obnoxious white, picket fences at basketball games or Dee, the son of our family friends. But, this capital D is probably just right. In Edgar Allan Poe's famous Rue Morgue series, he rarely names the other characters and simply gives them the first letter of their last name to signify whom they were. Brilliant, in that these characters could have been anyone, with any last name, with any history for Dupin to explore. I think Poe was on to something, and I also think you, Juvenation, are on to something here. Diabetes has a definition. When we attach a definition to who we are, we can very easily become that definition. This is particularly true of those newly diagnosed. It's interesting to note how the declassification of diabetes has come about in very recent history. The medical name for diabetes is diabetes mellitus. But, no one calls it that anymore. It's diabetes, T1 or T2. And even that is a classification in and of itself. But, with D, there is a certain liberation from constraint. There is every piece of information right at the tongue in one voiced alveolar plosive. It's a stripping down to recreate our own meaning. We are free to be people and then diabetics, placing emphasis on whatever D might be that day. I look forward to the first D-Day.
To get to my topic, I had a beautiful baby boy on the 23rd. He's as healthy as can be, and will probably be a prodigy at something. When I look at him, I see hope and a future and love, but I wonder what the future will look like for him. After all, I stand to pass D on to him. But, if that happens, it won't be D to him for a long time. Hopefully, it will be a shorter time than it took me, but nonetheless, it can make a childhood lonely, sad, sickly, and confused. I've always told people that I would rather have D 100 times over than have to watch any other person go through what I went through. To feel the pain and uncertainty I did. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for doing that to my own son.
Which is why it has become a goal of mine to volunteer more, to show support for those that are already diagnosed, to work hard enough to actually be able to financially support my own health and the health of others. I'm a huge fan of technology (my new Droid Eris is a pretty stellar little device), but my faith in people wains every day. I see in Washington and places all over the world the bureaucracy that stymies progress and research and health. I'm not sure how many members are on this website, but I think we've got a good start at showing support, not only for D but other diseases as well, where others have failed or neglected.
So let's do it. It should be easy, right?
On a lighter note, thank you for reading this veritable scrap heap of broken words and inane degeneracy-- a blog. I've reached over 1,500 views recently and it means a lot to me that a few of you keep coming back, despite my inability to secure a thought on the page for more than a few seconds at a time.