Yesterday I celebrated 30 years of living with diabetes. We had a marching band, fireworks and champagne. Or we might have done if anyone of us had actually remembered my diaversary. In reality, mid nappy change I realised what date it was and celebrated with a clean t-shirt to replace the one Eva had just weed on.
I was slightly bemused this morning to receive a certificate from the hospital congratulating me on managing to breastfeed our child for the last 7 weeks. It made me think that I should probably take a minute to recognise the somewhat bigger achievement of living well with diabetes for 30 years.
I know we have a few parents who lurk in the corners of ShootUp, trying to get a view on what their pancreatically challenged child might be going through, fearful of what damage a lifetime of diabetes may do. Take heart. I’ve not managed a lifetime yet, but 30 years is a pretty major milestone, so let’s take stock:
- Happy? Check
- All limbs still attached and not rotting? Check
- All major organs functioning well? Check (with the exception of a bit of background retinopathy which now my pregnancy is over has calmed down and returned to simmering quietly in the background)
- Production of healthy offspring, unscathed by her diabetic mother? Check
- Life lived to the full, despite diabetes? Check
Thirty years is a long time in any job nowadays, but with retirement not yet in sight, I’ll celebrate my 30 years of pancreatic service and keep plodding on.
And if my own family are reading, just a short note – thanks for all your support, it wouldn’t have been possible without you. And a special word for the husband – diamonds are the traditional gift for 60th anniversaries. If we work on the assumption that living with diabetes makes life twice as hard, I think that makes me about due for a diamond.