I like to look good for my doctor.
He's not the only person verbally acknowledging the change, but I will credit my doctor with a unique perspective. He's seen me at my very worst, after all. He's told me himself he is still haunted by the image of me in the ER, my fragile underweight frame - just a pale ghost of a barely responsive and nearly comatose 27-year-old new diabetic, fighting like hell from some unseen place against an unheard-of 1600 blood sugar. He still recalls how I emerged from that Great Fight, terrified, trembling and confused, looking perhaps more like the loser than the winner.