Inaugural Bawl (or Diabetic Recession)

[M. (for now!)]

On Tuesday, I was fortunate enough to attend President Obama’s inauguration. Unlike the noble and highly activism-oriented folks I traveled with, I had very little to do with the president’s election until, oh, a week before everyone cast their ballots. At this point, in my typical fashion, I decided– last-minute– that I wanted in on the action.

For me, some of the most moving moments came the night before the president’s swearing-in. My hosts took me to a real-live celebration party where people my age reminded me that not everyone is fettered by constant and nagging health constraints. While the others danced, drank, laughed and made general merriment, I literally couldn’t find a way to let go of my diabetes, which remained teathered to me in the form of my testing kit. As the other guests forgot about sleep-deprivation and painful hangovers in service of expressing their joy, I clenched my insulin and tester, worried what my finnicky immune and endocrine systems might do to me if I had a few drinks or (gasp!) fewer than 9 hours of sleep. AS I worried and fretted at the party, I realized that, much like our global economy, my diabetes seemed to be in a recession heading for depression, and that there wasn’t a single activity that allowed me to forget it.

(Un?)fortunately, I wound up having no say in my sleep situation, and slept for the same three or four hours as the rest of the travelers I accompanied. I wondered to myself if perhaps I should not have come, if I should have bowed to my troubled diabetes of late and stayed home where I have consistent control over my care and all the myriad factors that affect it.

But I didn’t. I slept the few hours, braved the walking and the cold with everyone else, and watched not so much the president as the crowd, whose determination, energy and ferocity in the face of such tremendous devastation reminded me that I, too, am entering a new and promising era of diabetic and general self-care despite the veritable diabetic crises I seem to be faced and challenged with every day.

Although I didn’t share the faith traditions of Reverend Lowery, who gave the event’s benediction, I was moved to tears when he opened his prayer with the words, “God of our weary years, God of our silent tears…” It reminded me that grief can sit right in the center of gratitude, and that even as I struggle to become the person I want (and deserve!) to be, I am so grateful to be able to engage in my own battle. It’s a blessing, truly, to be able to fight for your own life.

Someone had set up a stand in the center of Washington where several billboards offered passerbys little cards where they could write notes to the president. As I approached the board, the first (and largest) note I saw read, simply, “Free Diabetes Supplies!”

All I had to scrawl in was “…and a cure!”

I suppose in the midst of all the difficulties is the best time to remember that yes, we can.