The Blame Game

It happened. I hear so many in the community talk about it. It seemed common. I figured I was either just really lucky or everyone in my life magically understood. Then it happened. I ran smack into an ignorant conversation where I was blamed, told I was wrong, and then brushed off. I’ll tell you the story.

I saw someone I hadn’t seen in a while at a small gathering. Earlier in the day I had a conversation with someone else who’s been fighting Type 2 later in his life. Even with his own diabetes war going on, he still wasn’t as clear on the difference between Type 1 and Type 2. I don’t fault him. He was head down in winning back his own health and simply hadn’t invested into learning about a version of the disease he doesn’t have. Fair enough.

So the day winds on and we were sitting to eat. I was hovering around 107 and feeling good. We had a hefty amount of meat on the table that my dad and I made on the grill and smoker. But to balance it out, I had some carbs. It was a father’s day barbecue and I wasn’t going to not have a burger and a hot dog. Oh and I had an ice cold beer in hand. It was also day 1 of my infusion set so my absorption was amazing. Perfect time to indulge just a little. Invariably, the topic comes up.

The person in question immediately got on the soapbox of how I’ll never get it in control if I eat like this. I explained that I was eating that because it was well under control. She goes on to say she meant I won’t get better. I won’t make it go away and that the way I ate was why I had it in the first place.

Hold it right there!

I had to get clarity. Did she mean to say I gave myself diabetes and would continue to make it worse? Did she believe that? She did. I explained that’s not how it works. Type 1 is autoimmune. For some reason, at just about 40 years old my body decided the pancreas was the enemy carried out a full on assault. If my body wanted to attack something on itself, how about all the belly fat? I’d have gladly watched my dad bod lose the war to my immune system! But NOOOOOOOO… it goes after my poor, innocent pancreas. What did my pancreas ever do to my white blood cells to deserve that treatment anyway?

Anyway, this newly minted endocrinologist (surely she got her medical degree since last we met and that explains how she knows so much more, right?) then tells me how the other person at the table got his from his behavior (poor diet and weight management) and has lost a bout 70 pounds to reverse it.

I calmly, once more, explain that Type 1 and Type 2 are very different. This is autoimmune and there was nothing I could do about it. You wouldn’t blame someone with Crohn’s for the onset, why is it so normal to do it to our community? Multiple Sclerosis is autoimmune disease that that disrupts the flow of information within the brain, and between the brain and body. Maybe people with it just don’t read enough books to keep information flowing properly. See how insane that sounds?

She was clearly disinterested and I got a little louder and more aggressive just to make this painfully clear. I didn’t do this to myself. I wrestled with guilt after my diagnosis, knowing full well I didn’t do it. I got over that. What I don’t need is an arrogant, indignant, uninformed person reintroducing that guilt. And then came the coup de grâce. She looked away, waved the back of her hand at me, scoffed and said “yeah, ok.” And that’s when I stood up, found my wife (who was changing our little guy from this bathing suit back into clothes) and told her to pack it up. It was time to leave. I was mad, upset, frustrated, and confused all at once. I didn’t know what to say next and wasn’t ready to let it go. My wife caught the brunt of my mini-meltdown.

Early in my life I made stupid choices. I drank too much. I ate like shit. I lived outside my means. It too me 15 years to finish school and I didn’t even become a doctor; that was just my undergrad degree. I was lazy. I procrastinated. I smoked a pack a day. I ended up with an interrupted career trajectory, no money, and a listless life plan. I’ve since gotten my head out of my ass and improved everything. I have my family to think about. It’s not just about me. And beyond my wife, I have my little NickyT. I’d never under any circumstances do anything to jeopardize his life. For someone who’s known me for 30 years to be so dismissive was truly a gut punch.

And just like that we left and I calmed down and reminded myself that it’s not my fault. I logically knew that, but when you’re diagnosed at 40 you think of all the years you didn’t have it and sometimes can’t help but wonder if you could have avoided it. It took me these weeks to sit down and collect my thoughts and be able to tell this story. Every time I think of it I’m infuriated all over again. I have to get over it because although she was the first, I know she won’t be the last.