It was just about ten years ago that my husband Mike’s diabetes symptoms first appeared. We were in Atlanta for his cousin’s wedding and he started to feel bad. He had some kind of “flu.” That’s what we thought. He felt so bad we postponed our return flight to Tel Aviv.
After a few days the “flu” was gone. Everything was back to normal, except Mike was thirsty. We assumed he was dehydrated from his morning runs. They were probably causing his weight loss, too.
One day Mike asked me to buy orange juice, so I walked to the corner store and bought a two-liter bottle. He downed it in one sitting. He wanted more. Every day. Mike was drinking non-stop, yet wasting away. My muscles grew strong from carrying home heavy bottles of drinks. I told him to go to the doctor. “Get a blood test,” I said.
“I’m fine,” he insisted.
Mike continued like that for about six months. He wasn’t diagnosed until he was almost dead. I will never stop being grateful I didn’t lose him. And every year on August 30th, his birthday, I will remember how far he’s come and how hard he has worked to be not just a healthy person with diabetes, but a marathoner with diabetes. To me, Mike seems stronger every year. And he and I are becoming closer every year, more in synch. Proof? A few days ago we both felt a little low at the same time. We went to check our blood sugar at the same time. I took out a test strip first.
“Can I have it Mike asked?”
“Sure,” I said. I handed him the Abbott Freestyle butterfly test strip and took out a new one for myself.
Mike checked his blood sugar and turned away without a comment until he heard my glucometer beep. “What’s your blood sugar?” he asked.
He picked up his glucometer and showed me the screen. Here’s a photo that says it all: