As I write this, I'm coming to realize that this blog is not an uplifting one, so if tears and self-pity are not on your list of favourite things, feel free to stop reading. As much as I would love for mine to be a happy blog, for it to make me feel better, for it to serve as a hub for broadcasting how far I've come and how much I've achieved, and how I've managed to tame the diabetes beast, it's not, and it won't, because I haven't. In fact, just when I think that maybe I actually, finally do have the day-to-day stuff mostly managed, the bigger picture expands once again, and I realize that I will never get ahead of this disease. *Cue the self-pity*
Today's problem has to do with pregnancy, and starting a family. The post is whiny and obnoxious and self-indulgent. You've been warned.
Since my husband and I married nearly two years ago, I've been asked the same question approximately 350,000 times: "So, when are you going to have BABIES???" !!!
My mother asks. My coworkers ask. My students' parents ask. My old acquaintances, my neighbours, my family members, my friends ... naturally, they all ask. And maybe it's an innocent question, but for me it's quite loaded, and it always hits hard. Each time, I actually have to consciously take a minute to a) put a smile on (because babies should make everyone smile), and b) decide which answer I'm going to give. Maybe I'll stop conversation with a simple, "Soon!" and just keep walking. Or maybe I'll go with the standard, "Oh! We've definitely talked about it – we're just not ready yet," and leave it at that. Or then I might go for laughs, with something like, "Me, give up my naps?? Get out of here!" or any number of other socially acceptable responses, depending on the asker, and the context, and how sincere the question is, and what kind of day I've had, and how long I want the conversation to go on.
The simple truth is, I would LOVE to start a family today—yesterday, even!—but the more complicated, and scary, and socially UN-acceptable, and sucky truth is, I can't start a family right now. Not in good conscience. No matter what I had on my five- or ten-year plan, or on my bucket list of things to do before I turned 30 almost a year ago. No, I'm too responsible for that. Because my blood sugars and A1c results won't let me take that baby step. Right now, with my diabetes as unpredictable as it is, my body is no place for a fetus, and I know it. I wish I didn't, I wish I could live in blissful ignorance, but I can't. The fact is I do know my body is hostile territory for the moment, and that's cool – I can delay, I can push things back, I can be patient, and bide my time, and save my money, and strive for better control, but what scares me more than anything is that I do not know when or if that hostile situation will ever change. And if it ever does change, and I carry a healthy baby to term, I will always live in fear of that innocent child falling victim to the same disease that has cast its long, dark shadow over my entire life (or any number of other potentially terrible things). Now, I'm no scientist and I have no idea if there is actually any risk in me passing on my shitty genes or overactive immune system to my hypothetical future offspring, nor do I have the faintest clue whether diabetes can be tested for, or in any way predicted, but my irrational mind doesn't really care about the truth. It all scares me anyway. Too much to find out for sure.
In my mind I'm sort of damaged goods, and honestly, the whole topic of procreation puts me into a state of sheer and total panic. What if my control is never tight enough? What if an A1c below 7% continues to elude me? What if I never figure out what the hell my system gets up to overnight to makes mornings such a mess? What if I miss my chance? What if I never get pregnant? What if I do? What if I get pregnant by accident, before all of this is fixed? What if I DO get my ducks in a row, and pregnancy sends me off the rails again? How long will any of this take? At what point do I just give up? Will I be a first-time mother at 35? 36? 37? Never? Could I try in a month? In a year? Will my child have to live like me? Will I ever get the chance to know? These are times when I hate being the only diabetic I know in real life. And new as I am to diabetes-related social media, I don't know many diabetics in my virtual life, either, so I don't know if I'm alone in all of this worry. I don't know if there's an answer, or a solution, or a support group for this. So I worry all alone, and never get any better for it. And there you have it. My new diabetes dragon to slay. Just when I think I've got it ...
Now listen, this is where I really wish I could end on a happy note, and say that one day something turned my mind around, like, "And then, I remembered the words my fourth grade teacher told me, and I felt better". I wish I could confess that something miraculous happened, like that God spoke to me in a dream and told me things would be okay, and that I should stay on my path, or have faith, or whatever. But I can't. Not right now. Nothing has happened. The universe isn't talking; I've seen no sign. Maybe someday I'll be able to update this post, and share some good news, but for now it is what it is. I'll keep trying to perfect my pump settings, and keep appealing to my insurance company to please approve my claim for a CGM. I'll keep my fingers crossed every 3 months for a good A1c (J and I have agreed that we'll start trying after I've gotten 3 in a row under 7.1%), and hopefully sometime in the next year—best-case scenario—my body will be as ready as I am (and have been for soooooo long) for J and I to start our own little family. If things go any other way, I might be writing many more posts like this one :)
To finish off, I get that people deal with MUCH worse. I know there are more awful diseases and more heartbreaking stories and more monumental things to be worried about. I'm not for one second trying to suggest that my experience is tragic, or that anyone should feel bad for me. I just don't want to feel so alone. I know I have a good life, even with the inconvenience of diabetes, and I know I'm lucky in many, many ways. But for me, in my life, and in the context of my own little selfish universe, this is the stuff that sucks. This is the stuff that weighs heavily on my mind, and keeps me awake. Will it kill me? No. But in the spirit of "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger", I have to wonder ... will it? Will my worry and fear and inadequacy and discontent and lack of fulfillment make me any stronger? Any better equipped to handle life's obstacles? I don't see how. I think it will eventually just make me broken, and sad, and unhappy if I do nothing. So I wrote about it. To get it off my chest, and to share the burden. It's in the hands of the universe now, all of my deep, dark anxiety, and I guess that feels a little better than keeping it all in. And if it turns out that I'm not alone, and that there's someone else who also knows this fear, then that will definitely bring some happy comfort :)