Just the other day we had an interesting discussion over on the Shoot Up forums (there are some sensible debates over there you know. It’s not all weak puns and inane banter. Well, not entirely).
We were discussing the difference between people’s experience of diabetes depending on whether they were diagnosed at a very early age (and so knew nothing other than injecting) or whether they were diagnosed much later in life and so could remember what it was like to have a working pancreas.
I was diagnosed with Type One at the relatively ancient age of 28 and so spent a healthy chunk of my adult life not knowing what the hell diabetes was – something to do with chocolate and injections or something or whatever. So I very much knew what it was like not be in the failed-pancreas club.
Immediately after diagnosis I was just pleased to have found out what had been wrong with me all those months and thankful I was no longer drinking pint after pint of water and feeling absolutely wreaked all the time. However, as the days passed, I did have the occasional bought of self-pity (and why not?) in which I shook a metaphoric fist at my broken pancreas. As we all know, getting the balance of good diabetes control right is not easy and occasionally my frustration at not getting it right all the time turned to regret at having damn diabetes in the first place.
But since those early days, I’ve not really looked back with any sense of regret about being struck down with diabetes. It sounds trite, but you get on with whatever hand of cards you’re dealt with. There’s no going back to having a working pancreas and a cure is very unlikely. Unless, of course, you have a handy TARDIS to travel back / forward in time. Which I don’t. Pity.
So, no, I don’t harken back to the days before my diagnosis – I just keep a stiff upper lip and get on with it. But what do you think? Is it best to have had a pancreas and lost it or to have never have a pancreas at all?