Now, the clincher. Me. Add me to the list because I am now listed as diseased.
I have the joy, nay, the privilege to carry two (TWO) autoimmune diseases: Type one Diabetes, which you probably already know about, and now (Ta-Dah!) Hashimoto's Disease. I'll have to check with my lawyers, but I'm pretty sure that legally admits me to the diseased ranks.
Hashimoto's deals with the thyroid. An autoimmune disease means my body mistook my pancreas or thyroid as an alien invader, and like any good rebel alliance, has annihilated it and all its space stations. ("Attack!")
Since I heard the second diagnosis, I've been mulling around the idea of disease. What does it mean to be at that party?
It's not a party most people want to take their friends to on Friday night. It's not where anyone chooses to be. I mean, take a look at the pictures above. Would you party with those guys? Not only that, but the people who ARE at the party hide. Leia and Han try to look like they're NOT at the party, and no one likes to talk about Luke's problems because, frankly, they're embarrassing. (Just sticking with the Star Wars theme. No offense to the Princess, General, and Jedi.)
I'm guilty of this also. I want to look and act like everyone else. Normal, you know?
But I'm a pin cushion. A carb counter. A low-glucose level whack job. A coma waiting to happen. I'm tired, cold, and overweight.
This is what being diseased is for me: Life.
And while I recognize I have a great, great life, honestly, I'm trying not to feel sorry for myself.