To which I ask, which one?
The one with a slight foot drag who stammers a lot and has to take a shot every other day?
Or the other one who blanks out if food doesn’t come in regular intervals and takes a shot every day?
Nick and I make quite the pair. No, no wheelchair races just yet, but let’s just say that we raise quite a few eyebrows in the airport security line with our assorted medical paraphernalia.
Syringes are now a fact of life for both of us. We fill up a biohazard canister in under a month.
In our butter tray, insulin and cold packs fight for shelf space alongside the Land o’Lakes sticks.
We have enough vials to make a pretty convincing drug lab. Enough Rx bottles to make Walgreens jealous.
You get the picture.
But despite the Type 1 diabetes and multiple sclerosis, we don’t consider ourselves all that sick.
Sure, we have autoimmune diseases that alter our everyday lives and slow us down from time to time.
Yet we don’t see them as serious setbacks. Just annoying limitations that have forced us to get a little more creative with our time and resources.
And maybe we are in the halcyon days of our respective diseases, those near-symptom-free periods in which we can function as normal people and — gasp! — even blend in with society.
Except if you check our fridge.