Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Traces, the number 100, and other things...
When I was a teenager, I realized that I loved words. I realized that whatever job I eventually had as an adult, if it involved writing creatively, I'd probably be pretty happy doing it. Since that time, you could always find "traces" of writing laced through my life, my home. The ink stains on my right index finger where the pen sits. The notebooks and napkins and business cards and junk mail with paragraphs and stanzas scribbled on them that you'll find in and on my desk, in my car, in my purse, and pretty much in or on anyplace or anything else that I visit or use with frequency. The books - oh, the books - on the bedside table, in the desk drawer at work, on the passenger seat of the car, in the bed or on the couch - everywhere. One wouldn't need the detective skills of Lenny Briscoe to realize that I'm having a love affair with words - to realize that if I could, I'd spend the whole day reading beautiful writing and/or dreaming up poems, stories, essays and writing them down.
I was reminded during a visit with friends from the DOC, of the "traces" of having diabetes that are just as prevalent in my life as those of being a writer. My powdery glucose tablet fingerprints on the back of a black sweatshirt after giving a hug got me thinking of those hints that tell others and remind me - in those rare seconds I forget - that I have diabetes. The trail of test strips that seems to follow me wherever I go and the deep and tough calluses on my fingertips from testing. The connect-the-dots pattern on my thighs and abdomen and hips from old pump sites from which there is no break - when one set heals, new dots appear. The hypertrophy and scar tissue that remain from years of multiple injections before I started pumping. The bag of supplies that never leaves my side. The square bump of my pump under my clothes. These physical traces make me feel like I'm carrying a sign with me that says "I have diabetes."
The truth is, these traces are probably more obvious to me than they are to any bystander. What in my head screams out and calls attention to this disease, more likely than not goes unnoticed by others. But they do so bother me sometimes. In those moments when I want nothing more than to forget for awhile - to feel 100% normal - it is these things that cruely take me back to the reality of this life. Caught in a daydream or a moment of bliss - and then I catch a glimpse of that supply pack or I see a wayward test strip lying in a place it shouldn't be or I look at my scarred fingertips and there diabetes is again - rearing its ugly head.
I suppose some might say that diabetes is as much a part of me as being a writer is - and that, of course, the traces of it are just as important in defining my life as those traces of my love affair with words. I couldn't disagree more. I WANT to be a writer - I couldn't imagine a life without the stringing together of words - I choose to pursue it because it makes me feel whole. And the physical reminders that I write are a soure of joy. When I find a strip of paper on which I've scribbled something and then forgotten, I am thrilled to rediscover what I've done. It is different with the traces of diabetes. I did not choose diabetes, it is not something I pursue - it is something I HAVE. And the traces of it are more often sobering or sad than they are amusing or thrilling.
And I wonder, sometimes, if a cure is found - will these traces linger on? Will there be whispers of this life still left? I presume so. They'll be there to tell me the story of where I've been - and how I got there - and to remind me that I'm strong.
As for the number 100 - that would be the # of this post on Curious Girl. I'm grateful if you're still here and checking back regularly, as I'm not the most consistent blogger and it's taken me a long while to reach this milestone. :)
More on the DOC/Pawsox meet up later... But, stealing from Shannon - I'll give some hilights.
*Shannon and Sandra - and Sandra's sister have the BEST kids. Brilliant really.
*Both of these ladies, and Mel are as cool and as down to earth and as beautiful in person as they seem.
*Minor League baseball players are a mixed bag - some of them have REAL attitudes.
*It is always nice to be in the company of people who understand.
I skated with the roller derby girls, folks - got some photos and other stuff to follow on that.