For this (sort of) Wordless Wednesday, I bring you the live tweeting and photo adventure of getting a diabetes tattoo. Big ups to Matt Manning at Monument Tattoos in Tallahassee, Florida for listening to what I was looking for and translating that into a wicked awesome piece of body art with a practical purpose. One of my low blood sugar tells is that I sometimes lose the ability to talk and communicate properly. This is especially problematic when I need to get someone’s attention and make them aware that I need a little help. The idea behind a diabetes tattoo was that it would be something that is always on me, and I could hopefully indicate (e.g., point to it, gesture at it, hit someone over the head with it) in the event that I need some assistance. And it would look awesome as sh**. Your diabetes may vary.
Photo courtesy of Monument Tattoos
Diabetes is sometimes larger than life.
There are all these really BIG prescriptions, written with really BIG pens.
Then you've got all these BIG tests you have to take.
Sometimes you get to eat really BIG food.
But then you have to take really BIG shots.
And if you do it right, you end up a BIG success.
All the BIG things that go along with diabetes are important, but it helps to remember the small stuff too.
As A-Flizzle reports…
I think most people would consider me creative, but not artistic. I love crafts, but I also like detailed instructions on how to get it “just like the picture.” What can I say? I have OCD and am a type A personality to a tee. Nevertheless, I was very excited when Martin asked me to participate in Diabetes Art Day and make something that expressed how I feel about being a Type Awesome. I feel like the whole undertaking of the craft project brought us closer together and, of course, was so much fun!
This is what I consider my “family” (featuring Martin’s dog, Hopper, but absent my dog, Bindi and Martin’s cat, Squirt) and how sometimes I feel like Martin is in a bubble with his diabetes, where he takes on too much all on his own and no matter how supportive I am (as evidenced by my “Good Job” ribbons) there will be some things I just can’t and don’t “get.” This is perfectly okay, but a hard pill for me to swallow, as I am a fixer and like to take care of people. In the end, I think we are both continuously working to pop the bubble and find a greater understanding that while it’s his disease, we are in this together.