There had been some symptoms. First, my optician couldn’t seem to get my new eye glass prescription right. Known for walking and moving fast, with tons of energy and pep (sans caffeine) I noticed that it seemed to take more and more effort just to put one foot in front the other. And all I wanted to do was sleep despite turning in early at night.

Sure, somewhere in the back of my mind I realized that I was a candidate for diabetes. My family has a history of it, so I have long watched my carbohydrates. For instance, if I am having a starch like rice or potatoes, I have always forgone bread. 

Type 2 diabetes is the most common form of diabetes. In type 2 diabetics, either the body does not produce enough insulin or the cells ignore the insulin that it produces. Initially, my diagnosis overwhelmed with a tsunami of emotions. I realized that my life was about to change. Overnight terms like AIC levels, glucose, lancets and insulin have become a part of my new vocabulary. ‘Where pillow talk between my spouse and me was once ‘yes baby you’re still bootylicious’ has now been replaced with ‘What were your numbers tonight?’ (blood glucose level).

Diabetes isn’t supposed to happen to someone whom folks say look much younger than she actually is, despite that one chin hair that continues to return even after repeated plucking with industrial strength tweezers: the same one that a few months started to play hard ball by growing back gray.  Diabetes isn’t supposed to happen to someone who has finally realized a life-long dream of becoming a writer. Stories I once wrote in my head seemingly write themselves. 

While African Americans are more prone to diabetes than other races, diabetes does not discriminate between age, gender or class. Diabetes does not care whether you are politically aware or politically correct. Diagnosed with diabetes has made aware that I am not immortal, thus I feel more self-protective of my dreams. 

 I’ve finally begun to feel like my old self. My old fighting self – the self that survived a 21-year career in the Air Force despite my mother telling me that I couldn’t, as I was too head strong, and didn’t like to be told what to do. The self that survived six weeks of military basic training on my hands and knees cleaning grout out from between bathroom floor tiles with a toothbrush.  The self that once got too close for comfort to buffalo on the roam in South Dakota, and praying that we’d find our way out of Custer State Park before the deer and antelope also decided to come out and play. 

Diagnosed as a diabetic has made me realize that there is still so much I want — no — make that need to do. It has made me realize while life can be tough – that I’m tougher. Lastly, diabetes has taught me to appreciate what my mother always told me. That what does not kill you does make you stronger.