Six Until Me

Since I'm currently studying for my endocrinology final on Monday, I found it apt that the blog "Six Until Me" hosted Grand Rounds last week. Kerri Morrone, the author behind "Six Until Me", is a young woman living with Diabetes. At the age of six she was diagnosed and she has been on insulin treatment since. She has a great outlook on life as evidenced by this Pre-Grand Rounds interview. Her perspective of living with this disease is eloquently writen:

Such perspective is gained from a chronic condition, regardless of its complications. It doesn't define me, but the strongest parts of my personality may have been gently shaped by the perspective gained from having it.

Diabetes didn't make me love with such ease, but having tasted my own mortality makes every hug, every laugh, every kiss that much more needed and appreciated.

I hope so fiercely for a cure. I hope for a cure every time I see a press release about new research breakthroughs. I hope every time I test my bloodsugar that the numbers will always be in range. I hope every time I go to Joslin. I hope every day...

When I wake up every morning and test my bloodsugar, when I prime the pump, when I calculate the carbohydrates in a meal, I know it doesn't define me. But when I am feeling anxious or scared about my medical future or just simply overwhelmed, I know it doesn't define me. It just helps explain me.

And she does have a sense of humour about it (see the Pump in Sock entry).

To My Pancreas

Kerri Morrone, a patient with diabetes, writes an "Open Letter to My Pancreas."

Dear Pancreas I’m not sure what the hell happened to you, but you’ve taken it upon yourself to stop working. You did have that job for about six years, where you got up early every day and produced my insulin, but apparently that was too much for you. You were laid off or fired or something. Don’t blame it on that virus again. I think you just slept through the alarm and were let go and you just don’t want to admit it.

Read the rest at Six Until Me. It's good stuff.