Wednesday – You Can't Always Count on Dying Young

[ninanevermore]

Today on my drive into work, I was thinking that I am special. Not only am I special, I'm a walking miracle. I've had at least two doctors tell me this, so it must be true.

"If I ever get to work on a study of why some people get complications and some don't, you're the first person I'm calling," my endocrinologist, Dr. Thomas, told me yesterday.

"I'll give you a vial of blood, if you think the answer is in there somewhere," I told him.

He gets excited when he sees me. Like a kid at Christmas, his face lights up when he walks into the examining room, not because of who I am but because of what I am: hope. Thirty one years of insulin injections, and my kidneys are not failing. Thirty one years since my diagnosis, and my eyes are so healthy that I don't even need corrective lenses. Thirty one years, and my arteries have not hardened and my heart is not giving out. The nerves in my feet – instead of giving out – are so sensitive that when a doctor holds a vibrating tuning fork to my foot, telling me to tell him when it stops vibrating, I can feel the light subtle movement of the metal to the point that the doctor gets bored and says, "That's good enough; obviously, your feet are fine."

I'm a freak.

Or a miracle.

Maybe both.

My eye doctor was the one who first made me aware of what an anomaly I am.

A compact, graying Columbian with a pencil-thin moustache, the last time I saw him for my annual am-I-going-blind-from-diabetes exam, he said, "There is something special about you."

"Thanks, doc!" I responded. It's always nice to hear you're special.

"No, no, what I mean is, most people at your stage, they have problems. A lot of them. Then someone like you, nothing, not even after 20, 30 years."

"I keep pretty tight control," I offered, meaning I keep my blood sugar level at close to normal levels.

"That's not it, though. Some people, excellent control, but three or five years later, they still have problems. There is something in your blood that makes you different, and whoever figures out what this is, that guy is going to win the Nobel Prize."

My endocrinologist concurred. I get the impression that his encounters with other patients in my boat are more depressing.

"Amazing," he said, shaking his head. "I'm going to have them run all the usual tests, but I'm not worried about them. I should tell you not to come back for another year, but I'll tell you to come back in 6 months, just to be safe."

"It'll probably be a year before you see me again," I told him. The truth is, the only reason I see him once a year is so that he can refill my prescriptions.

Instead of frowning, he laughed. "That's fine." We bade our goodbyes.

Waiting for my lab work, I found myself humming the tune to Wonder, by Natalie Merchant, while the lyrics drifted through my head,

They say I must be one of the wonders
of God's own creation
and as far as they can see
they can offer no explanation

I believe Fate smiled and Destiny
laughed as she came to my cradle,
"Know this child will be able."
Laughed as my body she lifted,
"Know this child will be gifted;
with love, with patience and with faith
she'll make her way…"

I am happy to be healthy, but it brings with it a sort of survivors guilt. I think I understand how the lone person to escape a burning house, or the sole survivor to a devastating car wreck, must feel. Why me? Or, more to the point, why not me? Better people than I am have not had my good fortune, and it's not fair.

Maybe my cousin Leslie was right, and there are powerful ass-kicking angels watching out for me, protecting me from the ravages of what should be a devastating disease. Maybe the ophthalmologist is right, and there is something different about my blood. Maybe God really does look out for drunks, fools, and children, and as a child-like fool whose mood is always drunk, I am benefiting from this in spades.

Whatever it is, I'm not ungrateful and I don't want it to change. Knowing the course of diabetes from an early age, I never made plans to grow old. I actually used to brag about it, telling people that I didn't plan on ever collection Social Security or worrying about retirement, because it was a moot point for me. After my doctor visit yesterday, it appears I need to rethink this, and maybe start putting a little more money in my 401K. You know, just in case.


* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Comments

just in case.

[regatomic.livejournal.com]

well if the powers that be are trying to lull you into a sense of security,...;)

Re: just in case.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Perhaps, but I think I'm going with the "fools, drunks and children" theory. :)

[sm00bs.livejournal.com]

That is MOST excellent news. :)

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I think so, too. :D

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

You have no idea how humbling it is; I actually feel more humbled than blessed. I've heard horror stories about people much, much younger than me dying of kidney failure, and met people who've lost their vision because of diabetes. I can't even get life insurance here in the US, because the actuary tables tell the agents I'm a bad risk with an abbreviated lifespan. I could have been paying them premiums all these years and they refused to accept my money, so it's their loss. :P

[sidneymintz.livejournal.com]

you are so neat! :)

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Thanks! And I don't even try, so it must just come natural. ;D

[simplecity2htwn.livejournal.com]

It is always amazing to me when doctors and scientists encounter something/somebody who defies conventional wisdom. There is still a whole world of things that humans don't know/understand, yet we continue to be amazed by that fact.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

They seem pretty happy to be confounded; it's mysteries like me that make their jobs both interesting and less depressing. They get to tell other patients about me and offer them hope. I'm like that friend of a friend you hear about who really did win the lottery.

[hermes-wade.livejournal.com]

Wouldn't that be so cool if your blood turned to be the cure for something? You'd actually become a part of history!

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I doubt my blood holds any cures, but it may hold some answers. So far, no one's asking to look at it, though. The doctor who figures out what those answers are would go down in history; I would be known as "Patient X."

[darkprism.livejournal.com]

Did you happen to catch that news report a week or so ago about the supposed "cure" for diabetes? Type 1 & 2? Apparently individuals who have gastric bypass who also suffer from diabetes no longer have diabetes post-op (think they said over 90% were resolved). Obviously this could be because of nutrition changes, etc. but their hope is that it actually has something to do with the portion of the stomach they "section off" in the procedure. Obviously right now this isn't a cure for the average sufferer as the complications from that surgery are ridiculous, but perhaps it's a clue as to how to prevent the disease.

Anyway, subject near and dear to me as several of my friends and family suffer from either type 1 or type 2.

...and it's an interesting freedom to know that you're still alive when most people in the same circumstances would be closer to death or dead. If I'd been alive a mere 50-60 years ago as opposed to now, I might have very well died twice by now. If I had been alive 100 years ago, I'd definitely be dead. It's an odd perspective to consider.

~*~

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

The gastric bypass only cures Type 2, who either don't make enough insulin. Losing weight has always cured a certain percentage of T2s, so it doesn't surprise me. It helps those whose diabetes is caused from being obese.

In a Type 1 like myself, my immune system destroyed my insulin producing cells, and I have no ability to make insulin at all. Gastric bypass might make me thinner, but it wouldn't cure me. Even giving me new insulin (beta) cells wouldn't: my body would destroy them, just like it did the batch I was born with.

Being a miracle of science does change your perspective. Whenever anyone asks, "If you could go back and live in any other area of history, which would you chose?" I would chose no error other than the one I was born in, because in any other I would not have been able to live.

It's that Divine/Fae Blood, I tell ya'!

[noblwish.livejournal.com]

A chiropractor once told me that, under all my excess fat, I have surprising good muscle tone and am incredibly healthy. My doctors have said the same... although my eyes are pretty near-sighted. It's something in the family blood, for sure. Question is, what is the key to unlocking it? Not everyone in our family has been so lucky.

Re: It's that Divine/Fae Blood, I tell ya'!

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Most of us have. The only thing I can think of that kills us is cancer; our magic doesn't work against it, I guess.

Re: It's that Divine/Fae Blood, I tell ya'!

[noblwish.livejournal.com]

Heh... Look up Telomerase in Wiki and it'll tell you that Cancer cells are, literally, immortal. It would take an immortal disease to kill the progeny of the gods! :D

[jenelycam.livejournal.com]

How wonderful that you're not experiencing all the complications that you could have!! You ARE special, you know!! In so many wonderful ways!!

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

You're making me blush. #^_^#

Thanks, Dawn.

[mugglemomjsw.livejournal.com]

Good thinking w/ the putting more money away... You ARE one of the blessed ones. Seriously. My goal is to be like you! My Glucophage is helping me get there... ;)

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

T1 is supposed to be more devestating than T2, but I always feel bad for T2s because it happens later in life and it's a major adjustment.

Have hope: if the rep from Aflac doesn't inform you that you are exempt from coverage when you mention the illness like she did me, I think it means you are expected to live. Yea!

The Aflac duck turned and walk away from me without even quacking. :P