Define? Or explain.

"Diabetes doesn't define you, it just helps explain you."

It struck me that he was right.

Darrell and I don't talk about diabetes very much. I don't remember ever talking about it when we were kids. We played with Legos and built army forts for the hamsters to live in. There weren't any big diabetes discussions and, quite frankly, we never really talked about it until I started the blog.

But during a discussion we had today, it came up.

"Diabetes doesn't define you, it just helps explain you."

Diabetes didn't make me smart, but being regimented and dedicated to achieving results on a medical level may have made me work harder in school. Diabetes didn't make me determined, but it may have contributed to my constant drive towards my ever-changing definition of success.

Such perspective is gained from a chronic condition, regardless of its complications. It doesn't define me, but the strongest parts of my personality may have been gently shaped by the perspective gained from having it.

Diabetes didn't make me love with such ease, but having tasted my own mortality makes every hug, every laugh, every kiss that much more needed and appreciated.

I hope so fiercely for a cure. I hope for a cure every time I see a press release about new research breakthroughs. I hope every time I test my bloodsugar that the numbers will always be in range. I hope every time I go to Joslin. I hope every day.

"Diabetes doesn't define you, it just helps explain you."

I didn't ask what he meant because I already knew. Diabetes isn't Me. It doesn't own me or define me or ruin me. He and I both know that.

When I wake up every morning and test my bloodsugar, when I prime the pump, when I calculate the carbohydrates in a meal, I know it doesn't define me. But when I am feeling anxious or scared about my medical future or just simply overwhelmed, I know it doesn't define me.

It just helps explain me.