Apparently, your whole being regenerates every seven years. I don’t know where I read that, and whether it’s true or not. I quite like the notion though. What I know for a fact however, is that seven years to the day since my life was turned upside down I feel like I live in a different skin.
The Me who was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes is so far removed from the old Me who spent days in hospital, her life upended by one blood test. So untouchable now, that it feels like I really have shed a layer
And not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too.
I look back at that me and wonder what has become of her? What would she be doing now if life events, and a super immune system, hadn’t pulled the rug out from under her feet?
Would she be kicking back, supping a (carb loaded) beer, tucking into a Mexican (carb counting hell), without another thought. Her head full of ideas for something, or intently listening to a friend talk. Instead of the Me now, pouring over the menu to find the Least Worst Thing to Eat, and then silently counting the carbs on her plate, deducting insulin for earlier exercise, or the walk home.
I miss her. Or rather I miss the carefree nature of how her life could have been.
How she must be less anxious than me, who is forever treading a fine line of worry between 4.5mmol and 7.5mmol of blood. And surely packing for holidays is way easier for her, than my massive medical bag of extra supplies, because you just “never know” what you’ll need!
I doubt I’d recognise her if I met her in the street. The Seven Year Skin lies shed, reluctantly, at the back of my wardrobe. I should really put it in the bin now, instead of hoping that one day I’ll fit it again. It’s as likely to fit as those jeans I bought in the sale in Gap!
Never again will I return to that ‘normal’ carefree life. Never again will I be able to eat without have to count by carbohydrate, without having to take insulin, nor will I live without various medical equipment inside my body.
Yet strangely that skin is like a well-worn jumper now. Too many memories to throw it in the bin. Wrapped up in its very fibres is a long journey of recovery and self-discovery. Learning to live with a chronic condition has been hard. Shedding parts of myself that didn’t fit anymore, like perfectionism, and guilt. Slowly realising I’m better off living healthily than not. Forcing myself to learn how to run, and suffering days of high and low blood sugars in the process. Turning to meditation in the darkest of hours, to find it a daily saviour now.
We all change over time. And seven years is a long time. I can hardly believe it. Yet this milestone feels poignant somehow (maybe post Covid reflection). I’d never wish Type 1 diabetes on my worst of enemies, but I do wonder how much I lost? And did I gain more?
Did I win, or did she lose?
Today I might sit in my well -worn jumper with a cup of tea, and a low carb biscuit, and reflect on this. I might meditate. I’ll think about all I have learned about myself. I’ll certainly be grateful for what I have. Then tomorrow I might dig out that Seven Year Skin and let it go. Perhaps it’s time for my future: the one with Type 1 diabetes. It’s the only one I have.