What It Means to Climb in Diabetes Cahoots

I had a special guest when I went climbing last weekend:  friend and fellow ASweetLife contributor, Karmel Allison.  Karmel has family in the area, so she suggested that we get together during one of her trips up north.  We met for lunch at a restaurant that hangs over the Puget Sound and then promptly headed to one of Tacoma’s climbing gyms.  Karmel tolerated my incessant questions (ranging from basic diabetes routines to convincing arguments for getting my doctor to write me a prescription for a pump to cool neighborhoods in San Diego), and I crossed everything off my list as she responded.  You have to take advantage of time with the experts when you get it, right?

Karmel prefaced our outing with statements like, “I’m really not that good,” and “You’ll have to wait for me.”  Here she is, below, being “not that good.”

Climbing with someone else who has diabetes was a bit of an adjustment for me.  I’m accustomed to explaining warning signs to my climbing partner and reminding them where I keep my low supplies.  Here I was, though, standing at the foot of a wall with someone who not only knew how to treat my potential low, but could even rely on me to treat her potential low.  It reminded me of being at my Sports and Diabetes Group Northwest workshops, where we discuss all things related to being active with Type I, except now I had the chance to actually live those practices out.  We climbed without issue (well, except for the fact that I couldn’t master anything above a V-0) and happily stopped when our fingers were losing grip and our arms were sufficiently pumped.

We posed for a picture before heading out and got into a quick conversation about diabetes with a member of the gym staff.  The staff member noticed Karmel’s pump, I believe, and then Karmel and I noticed the six-inch tattoo on her right forearm broadcasting her Type I.  She literally had the words “Medic Alert – Type I Diabetes” in size 48 font and a large rod of Asclepius insignia, all surrounded by a red rectangular box.  I told her my quick story about my not-so-good luck with a certain bouldering gym in Seattle (which shall remain unnamed) responding to my bag of low supplies and then explained that the gym where I now have a membership is on the other end of the spectrum and is completely accommodating of my diabetes.  We headed out to the car, and away from Tacoma, but the image of that woman’s tattoo stuck with me.  Part of me was reflecting on how bold that was of her to live her diabetes out loud, another part of me was realizing that she might rely on that info due to frequent lows,  and still another part of me was in shock–as if I didn’t have diabetes myself–and thinking, “Why would you ever get a huge tattoo like that?”  While driving home later that day, I decided to go with the stance that I almost always adopt when reflecting on other people’s diabetes:  that is her diabetes.  Let her handle her diabetes how she handles her diabetes.  Or, as my grandma would say, to each his own.  I love to ask questions and I love to discuss people’s diabetes preferences, but it is never something I will judge or force myself to understand.  We are, after all, quite different people bundled into this one category by just a slight genetic anomaly.

I am quite thankful to have the supportive community of ASweetLife surrounding me and talking face to face with Karmel was a dream come true.  She’s even prettier in person!  And talk about tight BG control!  And–after this I’ll stop gushing–she does an hour on her elliptical machine every morning!  Let that be a lesson to us all.

Emily Patton

Emily Patton is one of those not-diagnosed-until-age-27 people with Type I. She is currently living in Seattle, Washington, where she admires Mt. Rainier from her car window during daily commutes. She grew up in Columbus, Ohio, but has since lived in Berkeley, California, Austin, Texas, and even served short stints in a small village in the Cascade Mountains.