Mood:  not sure

The Rain Told Me So

Today I went to see the doctor--physician's assitant, actually. She's new--returning to this practice after 6 years of hating California and being married to someone she didn't love, actually. Her name is Carrie, she's blonde, and--pretty, actually.

Obviously intelligent, she gave me dosage directions on how to remove Paxil from my life--kind, actually. We talked about Metformin, and I asked about my dosage--"I'm not diabetic, actually." I related why I've taken the drug--"You're not just insulin-resistant, actually--you're diabetic." The sugar-cubes melt in my blood at too high of a rate--diabetic, actually.

I knew this was coming, being insulin-resistant--having PolyCysitcOvarySyndrome causes diabetes, actually. The "D" word, conjuring up pictures of rotten feet and bad eyes and fatness--terrifying, actually. 

I know which vitamins to take and how to make it better--simple, actually. It's the fear of not knowing what will happen even if I do everything right--horrifying, actually.

I went to my car--it was raining, actually. The rain made me smile, actually. The rain told me that "diabetes" is only a word.