{"id":4828,"date":"2010-02-12T10:02:41","date_gmt":"2010-02-12T15:02:41","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/asweetlife.org\/?p=4828"},"modified":"2015-12-27T15:47:27","modified_gmt":"2015-12-27T20:47:27","slug":"my-diabetic-valentine","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/asweetlife.org\/?p=4828","title":{"rendered":"My Diabetic Valentine"},"content":{"rendered":"

Jessica Apple found love thanks to:<\/p>\n

a) tuna fish<\/p>\n

b) an omelete<\/p>\n

c) falafel<\/p>\n

d) quiche<\/p>\n

e) gummy bears<\/p>\n

\n

The correct answer is C, falafel.\u00a0 Did you guess right?\u00a0 Let me explain why.<\/p>\n

When I was 18-years-old and just out of high school, instead of going directly to college, I decided to spend a year abroad, which began with three-months of studying in Jerusalem.\u00a0 One evening, a few weeks after my program began, a friend of mine named Jon \u2013 a hefty guy who took his eating seriously – had an intense falafel craving.\u00a0 \u201cCome out for falafel with me, Jess,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u00a0 I\u2019m not hungry,\u201d I said.\u00a0 \u201cI want to stay in my room and read.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease,\u201d Jon said.\u00a0 He was almost begging.\u00a0 \u201cJust one falafel and that\u2019s it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Clearly, the man needed his fix.\u00a0 I\u2019m usually stubborn, but I relented.<\/p>\n

\n

Jon and I took a bus to downtown Jerusalem.\u00a0 I watched Jon eat his falafel.\u00a0 Like a mudslide, hummus and tehina ran down the sides of the pita bread.\u00a0 I ate nothing.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t say much either.\u00a0 I was terrible company and I knew it.\u00a0 I waited politely for Jon to finish, and then I said, \u201clet\u2019s go back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Jon said.\u00a0 \u201cLet\u2019s go grab a beer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Once again I declined his offer.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust one beer.\u00a0 Ten minutes.\u00a0 Then we\u2019ll head back,\u201d he said.\u00a0 \u201cI promise.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFine,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\n

We walked down the street to the bar where my dorm-mates hung out.\u00a0 Jon got his beer.\u00a0 Again, I had nothing, and I don\u2019t think I said anything either.\u00a0 I was annoyed at Jon and I was annoyed at myself for agreeing to do something I didn\u2019t want to do.\u00a0 I did, however, stop being annoyed long enough to notice that a few tables away sat a very good looking guy who was smiling at me.\u00a0 I sort of smiled back.\u00a0 When I got up to leave the bar, the very handsome guy came to the door and said, \u201cHi, I\u2019m Mikey.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHi,\u201d I said.\u00a0 Then I left, headed straight for the bus stop, and didn\u2019t look back.\u00a0 Had I turned around I would have seen Mikey following me.<\/p>\n

\n

Two months later I returned to the same bar.\u00a0 Mikey was there \u2013 and I would later learn – he had been every weekend for two months in hope of finding me. \u00a0 I remembered him and smiled, so he came to sit at my table.\u00a0 When the waitress put a plate of olives in front of us, we both reached to push them away and said, almost in unison, \u201cI hate olives.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about tomatoes?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI really hate them,\u201d Mikey said.<\/p>\n

\u201cPickles?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHate those too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Seven years later, Mikey and I got married.\u00a0 There were no olives, pickles, or tomatoes at our wedding.<\/p>\n

\n

These days Mike and I eat similarly too, thanks to the fact that in the last decade we\u2019ve both been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.\u00a0 And no surprise \u2013 \u00a0emotionally, diabetes has brought us closer than ever.\u00a0 Physically we\u2019re closer now too, thanks to the occasional unintentional needle sharing.\u00a0 What I mean is, since we have identical glucometers (a bad idea?), every now and then one of us accidentally uses the wrong one.\u00a0 Just two days ago while in a terrible rush, I reached for the lancet on the counter without thinking, didn\u2019t change the needle, and pricked myself.\u00a0 Turned out it was Mike\u2019s lancet.\u00a0 Oopps.\u00a0 I sent him a text message that said, \u201cI used your pricker.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

When you share a disease and occasionally swap a little blood, who needs Valentine\u2019s Day to mark a relationship?\u00a0 Right?\u00a0 But nonetheless, I\u2019m expecting Mike to buy me a nice box of dark chocolate<\/a>.\u00a0 Or maybe he\u2019ll take me out for falafel.<\/p>\n

\n

I asked my diabetic friends to share some thoughts on Valentine\u2019s Day.\u00a0 Check them out!<\/p>\n

\n

\n

Catherine Price<\/a><\/p>\n

I was diagnosed on February 17th, 2001, which means I have no clear memory of what happened on Valentine’s Day that year. I remember something about a movie theater and feeling very, very tired, but I can’t remember any details. All I know is at that point I probably couldn’t see straight, and I think I’d just gotten up from bed, since I\u2019d spent the beginning of that week throwing up from what must have been ketoacidosis. In other words, it wasn’t terribly romantic. But ever since then Valentine’s Day has made me think of diabetes — I try to imagine it as a really twisted sort of anniversary.<\/p>\n

\n

Kerri Morrone Sparling<\/a><\/p>\n

As an insulin-pump wearing type 1 diabetic, I knew I found the right guy when that moment of “disconnecting my pump” became just as sexy as the moments that followed. \u00a0(Doesn’t hurt that he’s also willing to keep cookies by the bed, just in case of a low. \u00a0Rawr!)<\/p>\n

\n

Karmel Allison<\/a><\/p>\n

Dear Valentine,<\/p>\n

Yes<\/p>\n

your heart I take<\/p>\n

you offered<\/p>\n

you did between the arms<\/p>\n

of a red envelope<\/p>\n

tucked<\/p>\n

beneath a bow die-cut<\/p>\n

a reference I think<\/p>\n

to some infant Neoclassic<\/p>\n

cliche and<\/p>\n

your box of chocolates<\/p>\n

beside.<\/p>\n

\n

Yes your heart I take<\/p>\n

and your chocolate<\/p>\n

and I offer you<\/p>\n

an exchange your heart<\/p>\n

for my heart your<\/p>\n

chocolate for<\/p>\n

my burden:<\/p>\n

your chocolate if<\/p>\n

I want it eat it<\/p>\n

wake you at night<\/p>\n

drowning in my<\/p>\n

bloodstream viscous<\/p>\n

and sweet I threaten<\/p>\n

our children their<\/p>\n

genes from me in<\/p>\n

broken glucose chains<\/p>\n

a life of counting<\/p>\n

concerns a set of terms<\/p>\n

nephrology and decay the death<\/p>\n

til we part<\/p>\n

possibly today.<\/p>\n

\n

Dear Valentine,<\/p>\n

forgive me this<\/p>\n

sorry exchange<\/p>\n

and instead let’s say<\/p>\n

your chocolate you<\/p>\n

keep our hearts we’ll trade.<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\n

\n

\n

\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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