The past few weeks marked the two-year anniversary of my diabetes diagnosis. I say “past few weeks” because as I explained last year, I don’t really have a clear diagnosis date. My diagnosis period seemed to drag on for weeks as I went from one medical appointment after another, in denial the entire time.
I guess the single day that best marks my anniversary might be the first time I met with my endocrinologist. He was the one who offered me much needed support – as well as some tough love. On February 11, 2010, thanks to him, I finally accepted (or, almost finally accepted) that I had diabetes.
I was back in L.A. for a couple of days last week and set up my quarterly appointment with him. After doing the usual blood work, he and I talked a lot about how things are going. He asked about my health, which thankfully has been great, and congratulated me on how far I’ve come since our first meeting. (No tissues were needed this visit.)
But beyond diabetes, he wanted to hear about my life. He asked about grad school and my thoughts on potential career paths when I finish this summer (eek, I don’t know!). He wanted to hear what my boyfriend and I had planned for the weekend. And he wanted to share some jokes (some of the same ones he’s told every visit).
I walked out of the appointment feeling good and thankful, once again, that I have a good doctor. It’s so helpful that he understands my diabetes, but also realizes that there is a lot more to me than the disease.