People with diabetes need good friends. By good friends, I mean people who are patient, understanding, sympathetic, and, most importantly, have a sense of humor.
By the way, I’m not saying we deserve people to treat us well just because we have diabetes. I don’t want people to feel sorry for me because of my condition. (The truth is, some people with diabetes are narcissists; somehow they’ve gotten the impression that they and their disease should be the focus of everyone’s attention.)
Back from the rabbit trail … I believe friends help us live healthier lives. For me, without my friends, I’d be in real trouble.
When I think of a good friend, I think of KC. Actually, we’re cousins, but we’ve also been great friends most of our lives. KC has laughed with me and more often at me many times over the years. Interestingly, many of our funniest memories involved food.
We spent most of our time as teenagers playing basketball in a church parking lot. KC could always tell when my blood sugar was dropping, probably by the fact that my shots weren’t dropping. But sometimes, according to him, I’d fake it when he was putting a whoopin’ on me (which was normal) or when I just wanted to take a break and go to Arby’s.
I loved going to Arby’s. Roast beef sandwich . . . Curly fries . . . Apple turnover . . . Angela Moore. I liked the food, but I really liked Angela, and she just happened to work at Arby’s. We may have been in the middle of a basketball game, but I was thinking Angela. She liked me, too. I know this because she would secretly give me extra curly fries. One time she filled the whole bag with those golden twists of deliciousness. I was so glad Angela cared enough to provide me with those extra carbohydrates my body was craving.
Hot Dog, No Mustard
KC and I also attended lots of basketball games together. At one game, I started having a bad insulin reaction, so KC, as any good friend would, went to the concession stand and waited in line to buy me a coke and a hot dog. Now, we sometimes do weird things when our blood sugar is dropping. When KC brought the food back, I noticed he had put mustard on the dog, so I obstinately refused to eat it. Finally I meticulously scraped off every bit of the mustard as the arena spun around and around and KC sat next to me, arms folded, shaking his head.
Camping trips meant freedom, friends, Frisbees, fishing, fires, and junk food. One time, in the middle of the night, I had another bad reaction. I woke up in a cold sweat, mumbling indistinguishably. KC and my other friends in the tent couldn’t understand me, but then, clear as a bell in a high squeaky voice, I yelled, “Pop Tart!” My friends were literally on the ground laughing (in their sleeping bags) for several minutes before I got my crazy good pastry.
We all need good friends during the highs and lows of our lives. I’m thankful for KC, even though he should know me well enough to realize I don’t like mustard on my hot dog.
Who is a close friend who has been there for you in your highs and lows? Go ahead … share the story.