Warning: Downer Post
David was in town the past four days for a long fall break. We spent the weekend hiking, visiting state parks, admiring the beautiful fall colors and the beauty of our oh-so-country part of the country, and just goofing around. We really enjoy going on adventures together. Yesterday, before he had to head back to Iowa, or what I like to call the Northern Hinterlands, we went on an adventure in search of gluten free goodies for David.
The bakery was charming, in the perfect southwest Missouri country trailer that wouldn't be safe to hide in during our lovely springtime onset of severe thunderstorms. It was painted an ugly tan color.
The woman who came out to help us was helpful but had a slight attitude that grated on my nerves. She was a slightly classy version of the normal people who grate on my nerves in this my native part of the country. She at least helped run a business and didn't live off her baby daddy's pawn shop money, right? OK, I'm being harsh on her. She was fine. She didn't really grate on my nerves that much, until we had "the" conversation.
Now, I am known for sharing too much detail about my life (GASP, you'd never know, right?). Somehow in my rambling about how we thought their little bakery was great (they do diabetic stuff too) because David has to eat gluten free and I'm diabetic, I let it slip that I'm a person with the big D. (Catch that? Ha, ha). I am not sure how we got on the topic, but she said, "We carry things that are gluten free and sugar free," or something, and I told her that I am on insulin and can eat whatever I want in moderation. She said something like, "Just because you're on insulin doesn't mean you can eat whatever you want. So and so is on insulin and they just went on dialysis."
OK, lady. I don't know you from Adam and here you are telling me how to control my disease and threatening me with complication stories? I know about complications. I'm busting my butt poking my finger about 1000 times a day and turning my stomach, arms, and legs into pincushions and you're telling me about complications? You're telling me about how I should eat? Are you serious? I probably wouldn't even buy anything from your bakery just because it's the kind of stuff I try to stay away from. Did you even know that flour you use in your gluten free and gluten filled products affects my blood sugar in a nastier way than the process sugar you replace with chemical that taste sweet? And that I won't eat it anyway?
I didn't say anything. I just nodded, David paid for his gluten free bread and cinnamon rolls, and we left.
I don't know why I get so mad about it. I just don't understand why people think it's their place to tell me how to take care of myself. I know. I don't do the best at it, but you try living with diabetes for a while. I could eat perfectly and my best at checking blood sugars and dosing at the proper times and still end up on dialysis. Because Diabetes loves the people it tortures THAT MUCH. How is that for your lecture, lady?
D has been ticking me off lately. And now I've been on the phone with some equally unintelligent people all day trying to figure out why the charge from Animas isn't showing up on my account a week later, when it was there last week.
Come on, people. I'm just a 22 year old, trying to figure out life and diabetes and growing up and all this crap. Can you please cut me some slack?
(Hopefully my next post will be happy and involve receiving shiny new insulin pumps in the mail).