Most of the diabetic blogs I read are written by type 1 diabetics who were diagnosed as children or adolescents. These people have been dealing with this disease for so long that they can’t remember what life was like without it. Finger-sticks (or urine dips), syringes, and endless supplies of orange juice were part of growing up. As they slept, their anxious parents tossed and turned with worry over a night-time low…setting alarms to test them in the middle of the night. A simple game of tag could lead to unconsciousness. Birthday cakes meant extra insulin and inevitable highs later. They were just kids, but every moment of every day diabetes was there.

Only a handful are written by people like myself, who were diagnosed in adulthood (I was 27). I grew  up without limitations. No one ever told me that I couldn’t do something. I never had to stop playing to test my blood sugar, I could eat an entire pan of brownies to heal a broken heart, I didn’t have to worry about my A1c before I could become pregnant, I thought the only people who counted carbs were Atkins devotees. I often feel guilty when I complain about how much it sucks to deal with this because I was lucky to have a childhood free of diabetes.

I was training for my first marathon when I was diagnosed. I was told it would be “unadvisable” to continue training. That’s all I needed. Tell me I can’t, or shouldn’t, do something and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that I can. My diabetes is a challenge…one that I use to inspire me to work harder, to live better, to love deeper.

I guess that’s what makes me just like all the other diabetics out there, regardless of when we were diagnosed. Diabetes is a part of us, it makes us who we are, but it doesn’t define us. We can do anything…despite our diagnosis, all you have to do is tell us we can’t.