Hitting "Refresh" On Normal.

A new diagnosis, new medications, new ways of preparing food. New amounts to eat or not eat. New rules, new goals, new fears.

A new Normal.

Food = fingersticks. Injections or pump sites. Counting the carbohydrates in every single thing you ingest, then worrying about how accurate that count really was.

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A new Normal.

That big stupid black meter case following you around everywhere. A jar of glucose tabs in the bottom of your purse. Back-up infusion sites. Do I have enough test strips to get through today? Do I have enough pen needles? Do I have enough energy?

A new Normal.

Yosemite Sam highs. (As in, "#!*%#$@!" escapes my mouth when I see the number on the meter.) Lows that shake you to your core; no symptoms, just post-realization panic. Sites that don't absorb anymore; pump sites that clog up; injections that leak back out. Spots of blood on everything you own. Blunt lancets.

A new Normal.

"Why didn't it click when I downed three glasses of water in a row?" "How could I have misjudged the carbs so badly?" "How do they pack so many hidden carbs in sushi?" "Why do I keep thinking I can eat breakfast cereal?"

Normal is a spectrum, and we are champion chameleons.