Amor Fati

 “. . . amor fati—that one wants nothing to be different—not forward, not backward, not in all eternity.  Not merely bear what is necessary . . . but love it.”   (Friedrich Nietzsche, 1844-1900)

I have type II diabetes, have had it for the past twenty years. My initial reaction to the diagnosis was, “Why me?” I have no family history for diabetes. Sure, I was overweight, but not that overweight.  Sure, I sat at my desk sedentary for much of the day, but I was not that out of shape.  I was indignant and angry, wrestling with the unfairness of it all.  I felt sorry for myself. I felt scared about my future.  However, none of that lasted long. I had to accept the reality of my diagnosis. I had to change my diet.  I had to lose weight. I had to exercise.

For several years, I was able to manage my diabetes through diet alone.  After a few years, oral medication became part of my management regimen.  For the past few years, I have had to take shots of insulin with each meal.  Nevertheless, with diligent management I remain relatively free from the sequelae of diabetes. I still have good kidneys, good eyes, and no neuropathy.

Loss comes in many forms. Receiving the diagnosis of a chronic illness was experienced by me as a loss, and with every loss there is a process of grieving. At some point in time, I probably experienced each of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ five stages of grief:  denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

Recently I learned that contemporary French philosopher Andre Comte-Sponville suggested that there is a sixth stage of grief:  gratitude.  “Gratitude does not abolish grief, it completes it. . . the grateful recollection of what has been. . .”  In other words, the work of grief is complete when one can recall a loss and be able to say, “But for having had that experience my life is richer.”  Gratitude does not negate the loss and grief. It gives meaning and value to some of life’s hardest experiences.

I am not happy to have diabetes.  But without my diabetes, there is every chance that I would be in poorer health today.  Because I have diabetes, I eat a healthier diet. I keep the pounds off.  I exercise regularly. Despite the demands and inconvenience of diabetes, I am grateful that I have made lifestyle changes and can say that I feel well.

Grief is an on-going process.  There are still days I slip back into the anger and sadness of ‘why me?’  I get tired of shots and checking my glucose. There are days when I resent having to count carbs, while watching others casually eating their bread, pasta, and dessert.  However, it was my fate to get diabetes, and but for a few momentary lapses I can usually embrace that fate.  From the hard experience of diabetes, my life is better, and for that I am grateful.