Gamble with Type 1 Diabetes

Diabetes is a funny condition. Just when one may be thinking of the list of concerns to be addressed, one realises that diabetes is waiting first in line in any case. This is my coming out story more to myself than those reading it: type 1 diabetes has stressed me out.

Interestingly, it is a condition that demands balance, a balance that is affected by every factor ranging from food habits, diet, and workout to sleep, hormonal changes, and mental health. Some may see it a race to perfection often marred by the fear of being judged. While the fear of judgement is the least of my concerns, often the thin line between balance and perfection fades away.

That nothing is perfect may be one argument to reduce the stress of it. But attempting to push and be perfect is often an easy escape than striking a balance. Either way, attempting to achieve anything with diabetes is synonymous to taking the road less traveled. This idiom would have been attractive if I were to embark on a tour around the world in 80 dollars but no thanks to the lakhs of rupees I must spend on my diabetes supplies — here, it is anything but attractive.

We are not talking about a condition, nay, Russian roulette. Every trial and error in an attempt to achieve the medically prescribed range is a gamble. Yet, it is amusing how destiny has the last laugh. Diabetes is a science strongly influenced by philosophy. That there is no dearth of stories of people who have survived despite being at the edge of death with a blood sugar level of 10 mg/dl (0.55 mmol/L) to a level of over 1000 mg/dl (over 50.0 mmol/L) yields only one reaction, one that of shock and/or wonder. The average of these reactions when converted equals to one word alone: Destiny. Until an Einstein of diabetic philosophy emerges from the ashes of those who died with diabetes but not of its complications, I survive to thrive on the balance of my estimates. Enough cannot be said on this subject.

Diabetes is a high roller and I am a wild card, go figure. We never fell in love, so we never can break up; yes, it’s beyond complicated. So having the required courage for diabetes that I may need for other things just as important gets exhausting. Forgive me Father for I may be sinning when I find the idea of stressing entirely over other equally important aspects of life without worrying about diabetes, for the lack of a better phrase, to be hell of an easier struggle.

Diabetes doesn’t stop me, no. But it does more or less drive me. On Monday Motivation-like days it does drive me for better; it makes me plain angry some days. I will not contest the foolishness of those who contest the abilities of a person with diabetes or any condition for that matter. But as someone living with diabetes, I’d be stupid not to acknowledge, accept and process the fact that I have an extra challenge in any case, and that I need a unique way to work around it. Sympathies are not welcome; empathy is. Let’s face it, the levels will never be perfect, neither will the fight. Diabetes is going to get a piece of my mind every now and then and I sure will not be smiling because it is the most unrealistic thing I can do while giving someone or something a beating.

So here I am, in the glory of my angst confessing that it is tougher than it sounds, that it is a struggle for a perfect number every other hour, that no family deserves the sleepless nights brought upon them; that no child, and no elderly deserve a volcano of questions brewing inside their bosom. Even as a handful of us can afford the luxury to say we can do it, that there are thousands who are still struggling to make sense of the symptoms angers me most.

Yet here I am, hung by the thread of destiny, wearing my halo of acknowledgement, and putting in the hard work that I must not for myself but for the comfort of those more dear to me. Latching on to what is most dear to me to get my boat sailing across the ocean has helped since I acknowledged that there is a problem in the first place waiting to be solved. No point sweet talking, high sugars may hit. This is typeonederwoman’s exposé from typeonederland.


A Series of Sudden Flurry

Corrupted by the cries
Where does the end lie?
Amid a howling wind,
Are rustles of tree leaves,
Brewing sounds of panic,
Have become my peace.
Have I learnt from the past?
Or am I encouraging it?
Tread on the path of doubts?
Or close my eyes & commit?
These stories begin well,
Until they turn into a mess,
So close that I begin to choke,
So I run away, I confess.
I run into a crowd,
Breathe in the chaos,
Let anxiety settle on my bossom,
Then rush out after the loss.
This constant rummaging,
Through possibilities & the past,
Is for the hearts that yearn,
For something that will last.
But, corrupted by the cries
Where does the end lie?


He Sees A Mad Man

He stands at the window, still
Eyes fixed on something,
Certainly not the view,
But something deep within

He sees a man, devoid of all patience
Far from the madness of a painter
But mad enough to stare for so long
A mad man staring until it becomes real

He sees a man, privy to composure
Far from the passion of a composer
But passionate enough to listen for hours
A mad man listening until the music takes control of his emotions

He sees a man, directionless, unguided
Far from the path of a traveller
But curious to explore the feared
A mad man wandering until he is lost

He sees a man, panting fiercely
Far from the calm of he who holds himself together
But breathless, you wouldn’t have tasted the chilling strip of air down your throat like he has
A mad man, driven & overwhelmed

He sees a man, loving women
Far from the moral boundaries of partnership
But a true lover holding his women so close, so gentle
A mad man they are trying to look for in their men

He stands at the balcony now,
Still skin, hands inside pockets,
Barechest, silky hair, eyes fixed on something,
Probably a mad man in the chilling December snow

If I could, I would go away
Not letting them need me more
I wouldn’t give another day
If I could.

I would not speak a word
My words that drop like spilt milk
I would fly away like a bird
If I could.

I would lay still watching
Watching the mountain age
I would freeze my being
If I could.

I would be better when ill
Under the warmth of my sickness
I would read to gather my will
If I could.

I would push you out of my way
Blame you for the obstructions
Never to let you stay,
If I could.

I would befriend this weakness
As we take struggle with a pinch of salt
And I’d reduce the fight to a day less
If I could.

The Beauty In Men

I see the beauty in men
The beauty in those who wait,
Some wait at the airport,
Some wait for words to hit their pen.

I see the beauty in men
The beauty in those who struggle,
Some struggle to say the right words,
Some struggle to figure what is right and when.

I see the beauty in men
The beauty in those who think,
Some lost in thoughts of their own,
Some lost in thoughts of their woman.

I see the beauty in men
The beauty in those who take note,
Take note when a youthful woman is around,
Take note to set their hair right every now and then.

I see the beauty in men
The beauty of those who don’t follow,
Don’t follow when the decision isn’t theirs,
Don’t follow when love is at their helm.

I see the beauty in men
The beauty of those who don’t express
Don’t express or don’t know how to,
And yet one can see right through them.

I see the beauty in men
The beauty in those who stay,
They stay enough to build a memory,
Just enough till you can stitch the hem.

I see the beauty in men
The beauty in those who leave,
They leave until you start believing that love is naught,
Just enough till you are dressed well for the end.

I see the beauty in men
The beauty in those with ego,
Enough ego to be able to describe love,
Enough ego to abandon it again.

I see the beauty in men
The beauty in those with a vision,
Vision of a possibly perfect future,
Or a future less harmful than that can stem.

I see the beauty in men
The beauty of those who laugh,
Some who laugh like an English gentleman,
Some who laugh like that next door townsman.

What do I say of these beautiful men,
Can’t live with, cannot live without them.

Imprints of Love

“I can’t think of something to write. I need inspiration,” she said. “Look out the window, observe the passersby and watch inspiration strike,” he replied. Ever since then, she has tried to see the world through his eyes. What would he do, what would he say, what would he think. She has been in love with him but without his presence; she has seen the world he didn’t intend to show her, with his eyes. If this madness goes on, she will soon learn to love without a lover.

The Generation Nation

An ocean of secrets,
A mountain of pride,
Blooming like a flower,
But struggling with might.
A wind of change,
A wave of revolution,
A visionary’s path,
But a blind generation.
A fist for a fight,
A wing for a flight,
Yet can’t see the light,
For the screen is too bright.
A historian’s future,
A futurist’s history,
We are hung in the centre,
A bundle with pages of mystery.
To draw a line,
Or to break the barriers,
Someone please teach us,
It’s the moral conscious that matters.
Should you read anymore?
Or should you write?
Should you seek anymore?
Or should you guide?
A time either alone,
Or a time with consequences,
Pick up your weapon,
It’s a fight for fences.