|With my oldest sister and younger brother, December 2010
Growing up, I’ve always heard the phrase, “Sometimes, family can be your own worse enemy.” For me that definitely turned out to be the case. Now before I go any further, let me make some things clear: this post is not a bashing of my family. There won’t be any dirty secrets and no scoldings. What it will be is a discussion on the interactions between my family and how that interaction affected my actions and care as a diabetic.
I am the middle child of my mother’s children and the eldest of my father’s. For the first 17 years of my life, I lived with my grandmother, mother, and siblings (primarily my grandmother and sister) in the St. Thomas housing development. It was a rough place to live, even tougher for a kid who enjoyed more than he enjoyed playing outside.
Before it was time to head home from the hospital, Dr. Rao had several conversations with my mother and I about the importance of watching what I eat and, more importantly, keeping my blood sugar in check. She strongly urged that the same conversation be had with the rest of my family as they were just as important in making sure that things went right with my care. She explained that life for me and the household had to change some for my well-being.
Of course, that was easier said than done. 8, 9 (almost 10), and 11. That were the ages of the children in the Wright household. Of course you know what we had on our minds. SWEETS!!! Who didn’t at that age. While I might have started out committed to doing what’s right, it became very hard to do, especially when your siblings walking around with what they wanted. Why couldn’t I was the constant question.