The fact that I was now officially a diabetic didn't sink in right away. I continued to lose weight and watched what I ate. The numbers dropped back into the normal range and I felt I had "conquered" the disease. Big mistake. This is a disease that can't be conquered, but will in fact conquer the victim if they ever drop their guard.
After a couple of months, the numbers started rising again. Back to the doctor and onto an oral medication. Success. Normality again, or at least what could pass for normality for someone afflicted with a life long illness. When I had to go back again and got a second drug added to my regimen, the depression hit again. I felt it was unfair, I had most of life still ahead of me and here I was handicapped before it began. No wife, no kids. Who would want a cripple for a husband? Little did I know I was going to meet the woman of my dreams, but that's another story.
It took awhile to get out of my funk. I finally woke up one morning and realized I was actually luckier than most. I was relatively healthy, had a good job, a great family and was still able to do almost everything I ever dreamed of doing. I hadn't lost any appendages to the disease. I didn't have to stick myself with a needle (not yet at least). As long as I exercised moderation, everything was fine. If only that had lasted.
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