My companion, whether I want it or not.

Like many type 1s, I put off going on a pump for as long as I could. I remember endo after endo encouraging me to try pump therapy and promising me that my life would be "easier".

"You can eat pizza in the middle of the night!"
"You don't have to wake up at the required 8am to do a shot!"

Honestly, all I heard was "You will be attached to a small mechanical box for the rest of your life".

And yet, here I sit eleven years later next to a small mechanical box that will, indeed, be with me for the rest of my life. And I can't imagine regressing and trying to manage my diabetes with shot again. To put it bluntly, the pump saves your life. It allows you to control your diabetes as opposed to your diabetes controlling you.

All that said, because let's be honest, I am certainly not the first person to comment on the pump in this way, I have always been struck by the physical and psychological connection I have to my pump. Since I was a little girl, I have always been attracted to anthropomorphism. I named almost every one of my families Christmas trees and mourned their deaths every new years when they were sent to the recycling bin; I have regular conversations with both my dogs and feel a connection with both of them that rivals many of my relationships with actual human friends. And because of all this, I have begun to view my pump as a little friend of mine-one that makes me really angry sometimes-one that makes me cry and curse my hand in life-but one that ultimately keeps me healthy. One that travels with me every day and rests against my skin during some of my toughest hours. Whether they be at work, or at home, I have been and continue to be struck by the anthropomorphic relationship I have with a piece of machinery.

I've thought about this relationship recently because I've felt compelled to write something for children suffering from my disease. I can't figure out where I fit in professionally, but I feel this urge, this utter and complete urge, to give to young type 1s what I couldn't find anywhere when I was their age. And that frankly, is someone to talk to. Someone who understood, really understood, not the way my parents or my endo or my friend's parents claimed to, but someone who genuinely understood in their core what I was going through.

There is a space for this sort of work-I'm not sure if it's through children's books or through group therapy, but there is a space and a need for this sort of support. I hope I can figure out where I fit in

Fair?

Second blog. Pathetic amount of non-blogging actually. I am feeling pretty low today. I'm frustrated, I am angry and I don't think it's fair that I have to deal with this. Then again, what is fair? I was raised by a mother that never let us entertain that phrase: "This isn't fair." She said again and again, what is fair Anna? Is it fair that you have plenty to eat on your plate at night and others don't? Is it fair that you got a great education at a fantastic school and didn't worry about student loans? Is it fair that you have a great life? Talk about putting things in perspective. And yet, seventeen years after being diagnosed with diabetes, I find myself struggling to make peace with my life. I don't know if I'm religious. I have always turned to God for comfort and advice and friendship. And yet, I look up to the ceiling and ask why this is my life? Why do I have such a large, unattractive bruise on my stomach from repeated pump insertions? Why is my blood sugar 220 this morning after eating at 135 and calculating perfectly? Why will this be my life forever? And furthermore, if this is my life, if this what the future (and a terrifyingly short one at that) holds, then cut me a break elsewhere. Let me have the things I want so much right? That's fair. That's what I thought fair was at least. And this lack of "fairness" forces me to question everything I thought I knew.

You hear people say, "things happen for a reason". That has always bothered me. One can say that because things, inevitably, worked out. In other words, if your house was swallowed up by a tornado and you lost everything you'd ever had, do you think you would still be standing alone among the rubble of your past saying "well, everything happens for a reason"? No.

I don't know if I have diabetes for a reason. I know it has literally shaped me at every stage of my life. It has made me a compassionate, caring person who empathizes deeply with those who are suffering-specifically from disease. And I'm certainly thankful for that. I like myself. But I find myself today, at 28, utterly obsessed with the thoughts of what life would be like had I never been diagnosed. I look at my friends and I watch them reach without thought for a second handful of chips, or another piece of chocolate and I can't help but play a game that has no function-no point. What would life be like if I were them? What would it feel like to eat and play and live without thinking first? Without planning first? I know the old sentiment that I have no idea what's going on in people's personal life. I don't know what they are struggling with. But they aren't struggling with diabetes. They eat at leisure-whenever they feel like it. They get pregnant without a second thought and eat whatever they want during the pregnancy. They don't worry that their child will have spina bifida or other horrific issues. They just go on without a second thought.

No matter what you say, or what you believe in, that isn't fair.