We Brits are known for our manners. We like to be polite. Please, thank you, sorry to trouble you etc. For that reason I suspect my pancreas is not British. For the first 4 years of my life it was perfectly polite. I didn’t hear a peep from it, not an ounce of trouble. Then all of a sudden it goes AWOL. It didn’t ask permission to take some time off, or even have the common courtesy to give notice when it resigned. It just walked off the job. That’s a little irritating. It leaves me feeling like the pancreas has the upper hand round here. It decides it’s had enough and I get to spend the rest of my life doing its job for it.
I’m not good at being told what to do, or being forced into doing things but my pancreas has effectively backed me into a corner. I either pick up its role or I die, now there’s blackmail for you.
Before my pancreas starts feeling too smug though, I need to make it clear that it doesn’t hold all the cards in this game. The one thing it can’t control is my attitude. I’m free to decide how I deal with diabetes and how it affects my life. I can let it control everything I do, let it ruin my life and make me a miserable old crone. Or I can grab it by the scruff of the neck, drag it into the corner and give it a damn good talking too. I can learn everything there is to know about my diabetes, using that knowledge to beat it into submission. I can even use it as an opportunity to meet lots of lovely (and sometimes slightly strange) new friends online.
So dear pancreas, you may have made the first move, but I will win the war. You’re a mere weakling when compared to the brain, and that brain has chosen to deal with your rude little sidekick diabetes in a positive manner. That said, if you did want to apologise and come back to work I would of course be very British about it, graciously accept your apology and we’d say no more about it.