Don't Ask/Don't Tell

Silly me. I thought when I wrote the last line of Your Life Isn't Over ~ It May Have Just Begun! and put it on Amazon.com that at least a few of the 21 million diagnosed diabetics in the United States would jump right out there and pick up a copy. Eight years ago, when I was diagnosed, I would have. The options I found helped, but did not give me the kind of tips and hints and inside information I so sorely needed at that juncture in language couched to lessen my anxiety instead of increase it. So the fact that my book is probably one of the best kept secrets in America right now would be frustrating if I hadn't gotten a pretty clear signal early on as to why.

My doctors had told me repeatedly that most people with diabetes don't make much of an attempt to manage it. Beyond that, I had met one personally a few years ago -- an attractive, smart, professional woman colleague twenty years younger than me -- who proudly outlined all the ways she was breaking the "rules" right up until she had a diabetic seizure and they put her on an insulin pump. I don't know what the end of that story is because I haven't run into her lately though we used to work together.

But shortly after I brought out Your Life, I put a few copies on a table at a Farmer's Market and Crafts Fair downtown on a Saturday morning to see what might happen. Family members and friends of people with diabetes would stop and talk openly about their concerns for their loved ones. People who had been warned they were pre-diabetic would stop to chat. But only two individuals actually diagnosed diabetic were ready to engage in conversation, one who explained at length how she was managing her condition using only "alternative" solutions and the other who bought the book in spite of the fact that she seemed to be handling things pretty well already.

As the morning wore on, however, I began to notice that I was getting a "look" from occasional passers-by. They would see my big poster and I could see its meaning register. Then, speeding up their pace ever so slightly, they would throw me a furtive glance out the side of their eyes as if they were wanting to make sure I wasn't going to reach out to grab them. The first time, I was puzzled for a minute and then it dawned on me. These were my diabetic sisters and brothers. These were the folks the friends and family were concerned for. They didn't want to admit it, let alone talk about it. And they were obviously afraid. Afraid of being recognized. Afraid of being diabetic. And afraid of death.

I got it because I've got it. I've felt all those things. But I don't any more. That's why I wrote the book. That's why I started writing this blog. Neither one is the magic answer. There is no pixie dust. But my quality of life is better than it was when I was diagnosed and I eat chocolate every day. What I'm doing and my suggestions as presented in my book are not commands. They're invitations to a happier, healthier life. Nobody has to listen. But it's an option.