I mean, didn’t I create this comic book to communicate without words? I’m tired of hearing myself talk about my health and I’m no fan of listening to others talk about theirs. In fact, I have moments of complete clarity while I make eye contact and nod to longwinded, animated and punctuated stories of other diabetics. I think, I must sound just like this. Admittedly, I am much more interested and entertained by my own stories than anyone else. I have a slight phobia of developing Munchausen’s or hypochondria, it’s true.

One thing I know about myself (and can’t seem to change) is that I learn everything through trial and error; I often learn what to do by doing it the wrong way first. The hard way. I’ve sort of come to terms with this, expecting it now, so that I rush through a new experience simply to get it out of the way. You might too, knowing you’re going to have to do it again anyway. I appreciate the negative the way most people appreciate the positive: I describe what I don’t want to produce a picture of what I do want. (I’m sure there’s some literary term for this but, as I’ve said, I’m pretty out of touch.) Since most people don’t think in these terms, I see why I might be described as a negative thinker; hey, it’s a valid point and I own up to it.

I’m kind of strange that way: I have lots of opinions on things, all kinds of opinions; if you disagree with me and want to argue, there’s no telling how I’ll respond. Sometimes I agree right off the bat and leave the conflict in the middle of the room like a deflated balloon. Like when two dogs are introduced to each other and one just rolls over with her feet in the air? I might be like that if I was a dog. Sometimes I just like to say out loud what’s in my head, some view or perspective I want to try out. Weigh the reaction; get feedback. Sometimes my feelings aren’t even backed by facts.

Right off the bat, I made a mistake (whoops, I mean “had a learning experience”) with the book.. I started at what I thought was the top, the American Diabetes Association, Juvenile Diabetes Association, Boston’s Joslin, and all their many publications. People liked it, said they laughed, wanted one for their diabetic friend, but it was nothing that could be endorsed or sold by the professional medical community. And that’s when it became clear to me: I was trying to sell the book to the wrong audience. I was spinning my wheels marketing to the people who I thought could pass it on to the people who would most appreciate it. I was adding one additional step that was doing nothing more than crushing my ego and enthusiasm. It was so empowering to turn the table around and judge them. Do I even want their approval or their endorsements?* To me, a very attractive thing about the book is that it’s deviant and secretive. Do I really want to cut and shape it to fit into the box? Answering ‘no’ of course, I’ve had to think about the book from an entirely different perspective. I’ve had to define for myself the purpose of the book and the desired outcome of my work. This is more thinking than I’ve done in years. (As an aside, anything stressful makes me crave sugar and I’ve gained 15 pounds.)

My understanding of diabetes is that it’s many diseases under that one heading. Although I’m a Type 1, I’ve been pretty careful not to segregate the Type 2s in my comic book. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about educating people about the differences, the huge differences, but that’s not my platform right now. At the moment I want to address the diabetic community as a whole. Every diabetic has different issues, even within these two distinct groups, when presented with the same circumstance few, if any, will have the same response or result. That’s part of what makes this disease so isolating. People without diabetes–our spouses, children, parents–struggle to understand us and the disease; our diabetic friends struggle to understand fellow diabetics, and we struggle to understand ourselves. Any way you slice it, it’s a struggle. And things change so much from day to day, let alone a lifetime. My favorite truism about myself: The only consistent thing about me is that I’m inconsistent. The same could be said about diabetes.

When it comes to communicating with others about diabetes, I wholeheartedly believe in the need for opening up new approaches and energies to dealing with the disease. I find that illustration works best for me. I believe cartoons can really reach people who are reluctant to embrace traditional supports and therapies. The art-therapy aspect of it is really amazing for me; it’s quite soothing to squirrel myself away and gnaw on these bitter nuts I’d been storing my whole life. So, not only are the cartoons a way for me to confront and accept things, but they have given me a way to tell other people about it. People ask questions after they read the book; it starts dialog. My book has a sense of honesty that is rare. Rare, approachable and necessary.

* When I stop to think about it, the American Diabetes Association has been the leader in diabetes care for almost 70 years; their declared mission is “to prevent and cure diabetes and to improve the lives of all people affected by diabetes.” A lot of good they’re doing, huh? 4100 people are diagnosed with diabetes every day. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they’re doing a much better job than I could do, but I wonder if maybe it’s time to try some new approaches?

Diabetics can be normal. I hold this to be one of the greatest myths or truths of our time. It depends how hard you want to fight, I guess. And how you define ‘normal.’ I have spent a majority of my many, many, many years as a diabetic trying to achieve it and wasted almost an entire lifetime of energy trying to prevent people from seeing me as I truly am.

For years diabetes educators* have preached about achieving The Normal Life and how—through the 8 Fold Path of Medication, Technology, Physician Treatment, Nutrition, Exercise, Psychological Support, Spirituality and Luck—my chances are mediocre in achieving it. Now, does that sound normal to you? Is THAT something to get excited about?

Diabetics don’t want to be treated differently but we most often want to be treated specially. That’s an enormous difference. For all the things that one might imagine from a chronic illness and don’t see on our exterior, well, there’s more than enough going on in the inside to make up for it. And if you don’t see that when you turn your head and look at that diabetic sitting right next to you? Well, that just means they’re trying extra hard. As you know by now, we walk among you.

Positive thinking is very popular these days, I’m well aware. I meant to pick up a few extra cans of it when I was down at Pic’n’Pay, come to think of it. But that gets old reeeeal quick when you’re in the kitchen at 3am, stuffing your face with orange juice and coconut macaroons. Or you spend 20 minutes feeling around in your handbag for the keys but your fingers are too numb to identify them. Or you can’t commit to any plan because you don’t know how you’ll feel that day, let alone in 10 minutes. Or you can’t get-it-up for the hot babe you’ve been chasing for 5 years.

Suffice to say, I’m not a good example of a normal diabetic. Some, if not all, of my complications are a result of how I chose to treat myself over the 36 years of the disease, whether because of depression or age or any other of the myriad reasons we might neglect our needs. Because I’m the responsible party I can’t put blame onto anyone else. And because the blame is pretty much mine alone, complaining seems almost like something I’m entitled to do. I’m NOT saying poor me, poor me; I’m saying look what I’ve gone and done, godammit. I’ve made the bed that I’m now lying in.

I have not found great opportunity to vent my experiences or personal frustration with diabetes so I’ve created my own. I’m letting you know how it is for me and, I speculate, many of my diabetic brothers and sisters. I don’t expect it to change anything but I hope it gives a broader understanding of how this disease can affect even the smallest aspect of an individuals life. This book, like the first, starts dialogs; it educates, and most importantly to me, it allows for the laughter of commiseration.

My Donation

Thanks to my tutorial with graphic artist Robert Squiers today I was able to produce something that resembles a cartoon. It’s a good base-line at least.

Thanks again Robert!

http://helpsomeonewithdiabetes.com/2009/09/30/interview-haidee-merritt/