I’ve been type 2 diabetic since I was 9 years old.
Yes, you read that right. A nine year old was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, an affliction that doesn’t often strike people under 40. I’ve spent most of my life in and out of doctor’s offices, getting regular blood work, battling high blood sugars, and all of the other things that come with a diabetes diagnosis.
Now, because of the stigma that comes with a type 2 diabetes diagnosis (and yes, I firmly believe that there is stigma), I feel that there are some things that I should explain. My grandfather was a diabetic, so I have a family history. I also have PCOS, which often leads to, among other things, type 2 diabetes. Trauma and many other factors contribute to a diagnoses of type 2 diabetes. There’s often an assumption that type 2 is “the kind you can make fun of.” I’m treated as if this is something I chose. But I didn’t choose to be traumatized. I didn’t choose to have PCOS. And I didn’t choose to have a family history. Also, what 9 year old doesn’t want carbs and sweet things? How many health focused nine year olds do you know?
But, perhaps that’s a rant for another time. Anyway…
If you know me at all you know that I genuinely hate the doctor’s office. I’ll go psychiatry and therapy appointments without complaint, but the offices of my primary care physician and endocrinologists office have always felt a little bit like going to the principal’s office. There’s a lecture about how I put myself into this situation (I didn’t). How I’m not doing anything to help myself (I am). How I need to be better (I’m trying). For a long time I straight up avoided appointments because I didn’t want to hear the lectures about my weight and blood sugars. I’ve feared doctors cold opinions and horrid bed side manner. I’m tired of being accused of being a bad diabetic by people who won’t take a moment to listen to me.
So this weekend when my newly implanted Dexcom screamed numbers of upwards of 250 at me, I was panicked over the possibility of having to go the ER. No. I thought. I will do literally anything. I ended up messaging my endocrinologist and waiting with baited breath while my sugar went down on its own. (Not the wisest decision I know, but the fear is a big thing with me.)
The next morning I cried a little on the inside when her caller ID flashed on my cell phone screen. I knew I had to answer, but I wasn’t excited about the lecture. After letting it ring once, I picked up the phone.
She didn’t lecture me, though. She wasn’t angry, but there was concern in her voice. She was less interested in what I had done wrong. She didn’t take her time telling me about how I’m a bad diabetic. Instead she said “well, let’s see what we can do to make this better.”
I was taken aback. I had been expecting a lecture. I agreed to a new plan, involving using insulin for the first time, she made me promise to call her if things didn’t get better quickly, and we hung up.
Later that day in a Spiritual Formation class we were talking about our images of God, and that’s when it clicked.
You see, often I look at God the way I look at most doctors. I’m afraid to call to Her. Afraid to ask for Her help. Afraid because I don’t want Her to be angry, perhaps. Afraid because I’ve been told I should be, perhaps. But always afraid.
And yet, I think God looks at me with pity, much the same way my endocrinologist must have after seeing my high blood sugars. I wonder if God has the same softness in Her voice when She sees what I’ve made of myself. I wonder if She says, “Let’s see what we can to make this better.”
I wonder if God isn’t the angry principal, ready with a cane, the way I sometimes imagine She is.
Loving God,
We thank you for the ways you wrap your arms around us, like a mother attending to her child. We thank you for the ways you call us out of the darkness we have created. The way you help us make things better. Grant that we may come to you in our times of fear and worry without fear of retribution, but rather with the knowledge that you our loving creator, and that you treasure us so very deeply.
In the name of your Son we pray.
Amen.
Moody Ministry 