I was prepared for clinic yesterday. I knew what I wanted to
say and how I wanted to say it. I had planned to have a serious talk about my
diabetes control and management, an honest and open discussion that would
provide insight into how I could work with my consultant to get to where I
wanted, and needed, to be. I had rehearsed it over and over in my head the
night before and in my head the outcomes had been good.
As I sat in the waiting room I flipped my phone over and
over in my hands, looking at the new art work on the walls. For that brief moment I
felt calm and composed, soaking up the vibrant colours as I felt my heart beat
slow down. When I was called in by my DSN I realised I wouldn’t be seeing my
consultant that day. No problem – My DSN was always kind, understanding and
never judgemental. I was in good hands.
I started to talk. I admitted to letting things slip,
pointed out my mistakes and gave my own suggestions for I could rectify them. I
was asked how I knew things had slipped, and I realised I didn’t. We tried to
get blood for a HbA1c – it didn’t happen. I sat sobbing, as always, whilst the
nurse tried to reach a vein before it moved. I felt selfish as I walked back
through the busy waiting room. Why should I be crying when every one of these
patients is going through the same (if not more) as I am. Why should they see
my tear stained face as they sit, probably feeling anxious themselves, waiting
for their turn. How selfish of me.
The tears didn’t stop. “Is it the blood test or something
else?” I was asked. Soon I was crying harder. I talked and talked, letting
everything come out. What I wasn’t doing, what I was doing, why I was choosing
to make those decisions, why I’m scared, what my future looked like, what’s
stopping me from asking for help. I was asked what I wanted to do next. I didn’t
want to do anything. I didn’t want to set any goals, plan for the future or
create any expectations. I just wanted someone, somewhere, to be aware for when I am ready. I left
my DSNs office and in the corridor were a group of consultants, amongst them was my consultant. I looked at him with my mascara stained eyes and then looked at the floor. One of
the things I hate most about diabetes is that it makes me feel I’ve let him
down. People will say this is a silly but it’s how I feel.
Later that night I had a text. “Everything ok? Clinic looked
tough?”
Everything’s not ok but clinic isn’t tough. Clinic is a safe
place, it does its job and more. It’s diabetes that’s tough.
Ninjabetic x