T1D looks like teamwork. It’s not just me in this fight, it’s my husband, my daughter, my family, my friends, and my coworkers. They all contribute and help me in their own ways.
T1D looks like strength.
T1D looks like friendship.
T1D looks like insulin in the butter compartment of the refrigerator.
T1D looks like a juice box that has saved my life before.
T1D looks like thousands of blood sugar checks, injections, and infusion set changes.
T1D looks like courage.
T1D looks like the Medic Alert bracelet that I’ve worn since I was 3.
T1D looks like always having a plan. Even if that plan is to fly by the seat of my pants sometimes.
T1D looks like perserverance.
T1D looks like a delicate life support system that I have to manage every single minute of every single day. No days off, no sick days, no vacation days.
T1D looks like the callouses on my finger tips.
T1D looks like crumpled up Starburst wrappers on my nightstand when I wake up…..a reminder of the low I had the night before.
T1D looks like defying the odds. Pushing yourself to excel. Shattering glass ceilings.
T1D looks like the extra carry-on bag that I have when we travel just for my pump supplies and insulin.
T1D looks like my daughter who knows how to get Mama’s bg meter, glucose tabs, and call Daddy if Mama passes out.
T1D looks like the miles I run every day. Despite the fact that I have diabetes. Despite the fact that my oncologist said I wouldn’t be able to run again.
T1D looks like the bottom of my purse that is littered with test strips, candy wrappers, and random infusion sets.
T1D looks like the look of concern on my husband’s face when I tell him I don’t feel well.
T1D looks like me testing my bg at a restaurant and the waitress notices and shares with me that they have “Sugar Free” Syrup for my pancakes.
T1D looks like hope.
T1D looks like……me.
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