We were laughing on the couch–my friend C, my friend J, and I–as I treated a low blood sugar with glucose tablets and explained the intricacies of low blood sugar to the two of them.
“Do they taste–good?” asked my friend J, peering at the large tablet I was about to pop into my mouth.
“I think they do. They taste like Sweet Tarts. Want one?”
J giggled and finally consented to eat half out of sheer curiosity, while C, whose picky digestive system doesn’t like sugar, made this strange sound halfway between a laugh and a groan at the thought of eating pure glucose.
In the months since my diagnosis, I’ve struggled with a persistent, perverse desire to be normal, a desire that makes it harder for me to be content and sometimes harder for me to take care of myself. But at that moment, there with my friends, watching Downton Abbey and eating glucose tabs, I remembered something: they’re not “normal” either. C is gluten and lactose intolerant and multiple food allergies. J has tunnel vision. What is normal anyway and why does it matter so much to me?
I highly doubt my desire for normal will go away, but for a least a little while, laughing on the couch with my friends, it didn’t seem to matter so much.