For one year, one month, and 18 days (but who's counting?) life hasn't just been about my diabetes. It's been about his diabetes, too. It's been taking a look at his Dexcom receiver while he's sleeping soundly and I'm leaving for work. It's been waking him up and testing his blood sugar while he's sleeping through his alarms. It's been carb counting and learning how to make "man food." It's been doubling the stash of juice and glucose tabs "just in case." It's been having his arms around me when I'm low. Having him there to kiss my forehead when I have a blood sugar headache. It's meant that when diabetes gets scary and overwhelming, I can find comfort in the words of someone who knows exactly what it feels like - someone who knows me better than anyone else - and is telling me that I can do this. Someone I probably never would have met had diabetes not touched both of our lives.
And when I excitedly squealed over the phone that he had to bring d-trash because the first order of business after not seeing each other for a month was making an art project, he laughed and lovingly complied with the request.
The pen needles and needle covers are mine; everything else is his. Our respective d-lives coming together to make something beautiful. Just like us.