"YDMV?" I repeated, lost.
"Yes. Your diabetes may vary!"
"My diabetes?" my brain said in a crabby voice. (I most certainly had not claimed this condition as "mine" yet.) But she continued, as if we were just two buddies chatting about our plans for the weekend.
"Each body is different. What works for one person may not work for another. Even medication may affect different people differently."
"Oh, great," I thought, feeling like a new kid in town walking up the steps to a middle school full of students I'd never seen before. What if I couldn't find my classes? What if the other students didn't like me? What if the teachers thought I was stupid? I was trying to pay attention, but there was so much to learn and now this: "Your diabetes may vary."
Eight years later, I realize it's even more complicated than that. "My" diabetes may not only vary from other people's diabetes. It may, on any given day, vary from its own typical patterns, leaving me flummoxed and sometimes floundering for a quick solution in the moment and trying to figure out some idea of how to avoid the same situation in the future.
It can get wearing. And if my brain invites me to think, "This craziness is going to last every day for the rest of my life..." -- and I embrace the thought -- I can crash and burn like an asteroid right in the middle of my day.
On the other hand, isn't that just the way life in general is? I don't climb into my car, turn the key, point it roughly in the direction of the building I work in, and put my foot down on the gas pedal. I have to pay attention, ignore my phone, check the mirrors repeatedly, deal with the weather, and stay on top of an infinite number of details all the way there. Or suffer the consequences. An accident (even someone else's accident), a flat, a broken traffic signal, a kid on a bike, changes everything. And yet all that necessary hyper-vigilance becomes more or less routine after enough practice.
A couple of months ago, I plunked down fifteen bucks for an AARP driver's education course that's offered from time to time in many communities, including ours. I didn't do it because I noticed my driving was getting worse. I didn't do it because I don't have enough to do. And I wasn't trying to meet new friends. I did it because car insurance companies knock a nice chunk off your annual premium if you take the course. They've determined that people who take the course are statistically less likely to have problems when driving. I took the course to save on the cost of my insurance, but I walked away a better driver, too. Win-win.
One way or the other, I've learned something new about "my" diabetes pretty much every day since I was diagnosed. At first, I was reading books and magazines I picked up at various doctor's offices. I signed up on diabetes websites (like dLife.com) so I'd get email updates on how to stay healthy and happy by managing "my" diabetes. And I talked about it with anyone who would stand still. I was processing.
Now, all these years later, I've written a book myself, Your Life Isn't Over ~ It May Have Just Begun!. I'm still getting dLife emails and checking out the webinars they offer on topics of interest to me. And just recently I discovered actor/comedian Jim Turner who actually makes me laugh about it all.
The area of my life related to "my" diabetes -- just like every other area of my life -- is constantly unfolding, changing, and varying. With or without diabetes, life wouldn't be a bowl of cherries every minute, but I'm learning how to recognize a pit when I run into one and enjoy the sweetness more every day.
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