What Would I Do If My Diabetes Were Cured Tomorrow?

The first thing to come to mind is to devour a stack of pancakes with a generous drizzle of real maple syrup! For the most part I avoid them now because of the high blood sugars that seem to follow no matter what size insulin shot I take.

When I delve a little deeper into the 18 years I’ve lived with type 1 diabetes, I find myself thinking that I’d probably appreciate a lot more in a diabetes cure than just a pancake binge. Here is my list of things I’d love to do, if I found myself miraculously cured.

I’d sleep late. We’re talking so late you’d start worrying that you need to come at me with a Glucagon kit. Of course, please don’t because, remember, I’m diabetes-free.  

I’d go running. More accurately, it would be a mad dash out the door in my pajamas and slippers, or maybe even sans slippers since I wouldn’t have to worry about getting a wound on my foot and developing complications. I’d run waving my arms screaming and crying—happy  screams and happy tears, naturally.

I’d stop playing the lottery. What’s the point in playing if you’ve already hit the jackpot? A cure would make me feel like I won something far more important than money.

I’d contemplate learning a new trade and wouldn’t be afraid of making some changes. Although I enjoy my current job, it would be exciting to not have to worry constantly about medical bills, prescription costs, and insurance coverage. For 18 years, every job selection has meant a flurry of worries weighing heavily on me. I wouldn’t need to worry more about the insurance coverage offered than the hourly wage at a job. I could do anything, anything I wanted.  

I’d call my insurance company to thank them for all they’ve done for me. Just kidding! I’d call them and explain in a long, possibly wine-induced (because I can now enjoy a few glasses without worrying about the bêtes) rant about just how hard they made my life sometimes. For once in my life, I wouldn’t be so intimidated by them.

I’d travel without fear of becoming separated from my life-saving supplies. I wouldn’t have to give explanations to security on why I have a large variety of pointy devices and fluid-filled glass vials in my bag. 

I’d hurl my glucometer as far as I possibly could, preferably straight into a volcano. I’d also pitch in my syringes, test strips, giant purse/medical supply bag, the lady who slapped my hand for eating candy, and my insulin. (Don’t worry, I’m only kidding about the lady. I might make her attend the cure party at my house, though, and remind her that it wasn’t a special diet of rabbit food that cured me.)  

I may joke around a bit with my list, but the honest-to-goodness truth is that I’d want nothing more than to just spend the day being thankful with my family. We truly wouldn’t need anything special, just to spend it feeling blessed and looking toward a longer, less painful, and less scary life. I’d feel like the luckiest girl in the whole world snuggled in my husband’s arms with no worries about my blood sugar and no fears of diabetes hurting our future.


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