As I write this, I stare pitifully down at my left foot and right knee. Each is carefully draped with an ice pack. My left foot is wrapped in an Ace bandage, awaiting an evaluation by an orthopedist for the fracture in my fifth metatarsal bone (think - the pinky bone of your foot). The swelling in my right knee seems to have gone down, but I'm over-icing it as a precaution. We still don't know what exactly is causing the knee swelling - it flares up after running or excessive walking. But a fracture in the left foot means crutches and weight-bearing only on the right leg. Which means pressure on the bad knee. Which means excruciating pain and more inflammation. My Omnipod sits inconspicuously on my left thigh, an afterthought. I use my PDM to bolus for my Sunday night ice cream, then spend five minutes over-thinking how much Aleve I should take before bed.
I'm not good at being still. Resting and elevating has been a challenge for me. Sure, I got to watch Moana and take a nap on the couch, but I like to be
moving. Laying in bed last night, I didn't sleep much, unable to stop focusing on the pain in my knee. The more I lay around and think, the more often I came back to the same thought -
am I being a huge wuss? This is temporary.
I mean, I've lived with type one diabetes every day of my life for the past 25 & 1/2 years. It comes to me as naturally as breathing. The pricks, the pokes, the highs, the lows...but this - struggling to get around - this is new for me. And its gotten me thinking. We struggle with what we're unfamiliar with. Someone from the outside looking in would probably assume that taking care of my diabetes is incredibly stressful. They would see the broken foot and think it was small potatoes compared to my daily finger pricks. But not me. For me, diabetes continues to be a nonchalant part of my daily life, while this foot fracture has me tossing and turning, butt-scooting and crawling around my house.
At the same time, I think that what we go through prepares us for what is to come. Time has passed and I've been given a boot for my broken foot. I've grown to have a love-hate relationship with the boot - much like the relationship I have with my diabetes supplies. I talk to it, I give a pat after it helps me get around, I consider naming it. I feel living with a pump has predisposed me to have a certain level of amicability towards health-gear. I realize the necessity of it and try not to begrudge it for doing its job.
We as humans are creatures of habit. It seems that for most of us,
hard and
easy are subjective - what's new is hard. Type one, for me, is easy compared to broken foot. And yes, in case you were wondering, I did decorate the boot. We'll see about the name.
