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As I got ready to go to the doctor\u2019s office yesterday, I handed my Milan Marathon registration form to my wife Jess, and asked her to fill it out for me.\u00a0 \u201cThey\u2019ll never be able to read my handwriting,\u201d I said.\u00a0 In order to participate in the marathon I need a certificate of health signed by a sports doctor.\u00a0 It’s not supposed to be a big deal, but I was stressed about going for a physical exam.<\/p>\n
I watched Jess write my basic information on the form.\u00a0 At the end of the page there was a space devoted to \u201cdisability.\u201d\u00a0 Jess looked up.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo I write diabetes? Is diabetes a disability?\u201d she asked.\u00a0 She and I both have autoimmune diabetes.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t write anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
We were both thinking the same thing.\u00a0 Diabetes is not a disability.<\/p>\n
Or is it?<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll let the doctor fill that part in,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
That blank line on a simple form shouldn\u2019t have meant anything.\u00a0 It should have come and gone like every other form I\u2019ve ever completed.\u00a0 Instead, it filled my mind with identity questions.\u00a0 I think of myself as diabetic, or a person with diabetes, if you prefer, not as disabled. \u00a0But yet, if my insulin pump were to fall off during a marathon, or if my blood sugar began to plummet, I\u2019d probably be the most disabled guy on the course.<\/p>\n
I was nervous on my way to the doctor\u2019s.\u00a0 I questioned whether I\u2019m really healthy and worried the doctor would tell me that I\u2019m not.\u00a0 Maybe he wouldn\u2019t sign the form because of my diabetes. I know plenty of people with type 1 diabetes run marathons and although I myself have run many, I always have a fear that I won\u2019t be allowed in.\u00a0 Or perhaps there will be some official at the starting line who spots my insulin pump and pulls me aside just as the race begins.<\/p>\n
In the clinic I filled out a long questionnaire and went in to see to the doctor, a pale, slightly overweight man in his 50s with a very heavy French accent that made his mumbling difficult to understand. The first thing I told him when I walked in was that I needed a certificate signed for the Milano City Marathon. \u00a0Then I said, \u201cI have type 1 diabetes.\u201d\u00a0 It came out more like a declaration than an ordinary sentence.\u00a0\u00a0 The doctor asked me all the usual medical questions and sent me to the next room to test my lung capacity. Next, I ran on a treadmill while hooked up to a heart monitor.\u00a0 For 30 minutes a nurse continuously raised the incline and speed.<\/p>\n
When the physical tests were over I returned to the doctor\u2019s office. He looked at my results, mumbling things I couldn\u2019t understand, and then he asked me what I carry with me when I run.<\/p>\n
\u201cEnergy gels,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t carry glucagon?\u201d he asked.\u00a0 Finally, he was speaking clearly.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said.\u00a0 Glucagon?\u00a0 Seriously? How the hell would I carry the orange box, along with the glucose meter and gels.\u00a0 And even if I did carry it and passed out, would anyone who found me know what it was or how to use it?<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you run with ID of some sort?\u201d the doctor asked.<\/p>\n
I understood his question perfectly, but since the honest answer would make me sound very negligent, I said, \u201cExcuse me?\u201d<\/p>\n
He repeated the question, adding, \u201cIf something happens to you, how will anyone know you have diabetes?\u201d<\/p>\n
I showed him my pump and said, \u201cI have an insulin pump.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt won\u2019t be visible and many people don\u2019t know what it is.\u00a0 They\u2019ll think it\u2019s a pager or a phone.\u00a0 You need ID.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shrugged.\u00a0 He was right. What would happen to me in Milan, where I know no one, if I passed out?<\/p>\n