When I was about 7 months pregnant with Elise, I went to Costco to buy some water. As the boxes were quite heavy, I needed help to get them into my cart. I figured that when I got out to the parking lot, I could ask some capable-looking person to help me get them into my car.
Outside, I approached a middle-aged, normal-looking man and said, "excuse me!"
He ignored me and kept walking. Not one to be timid, I tried again, louder. "Excuse me!"
Reluctantly, he turned to look at me. Hesitatingly and rather impatiently, he replied, "yes?"
I told him that I needed some help getting the boxes of water into the trunk of my car, hoping he would take pity on me and my poor pregnant belly.
Relief washed over his face as he told me, "Oh! No problem... I can do that!" He paused, and then said, "I thought you were going to ask me for money."
I knew I wasn't dressed for tea with the Queen, but homeless? Really? When I got home, I looked in the mirror. Doo-rag on my head, sweats, and no make-up (I don't wear it). For him, that equaled someone who would be out pan-handling and not the 7-month suburban hausfrau that I was.
Diabetes is often like that. My child is the picture of health. When people learn for the first time that she has diabetes, they often
exclaim, "but she looks so healthy!"
And she does. And she is.
Except she has a disease that daily is battling inside her body. I am thankful that diabetes rarely manifests itself physically, but I get frustrated with the people that equate that take that to mean it's no big deal. Yes, my child looks healthy, but hardly anyone understands just how much hard work it takes to make it so.
1 day ago