acceptance.

I might be diabetic. That I realized a little more than a decade ago. The result of an annual physical examination in the office showed enough indications for concern. At least the doctor thought so. But I was young, certainly younger than today anyway, and you don't think about your mortality when you're having a good time, living the life. And so I hastily put the thought in the backburner of my mind where it stayed hidden. Forgotten. Until two weeks ago when the monster it has become can no longer be contained by the imagined fortress I built around it. Some things you just can't wish away. Or totally forget.


The doctor said that with diabetes, treatment is not the operative word but control. And the first step to control is acceptance. Admission. So I'm saying it now.


I. Am. Diabetic.  


And this is where my story starts.