GNO

Girls’ Night

Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but I think it’s sort of uncommon to keep a special bond with friends you’ve known and been friends with in high school.  Even though social media helps this these days, I still think too many people move on, grow apart, etc.

I’ve been so blessed to have a select group of women in my “circle of friends” since we were in high school.  (I’ve got a couple I’ve known longer than that, too!)  We’ve grown together.  High school graduation.  College.  Marriages.  Births.  Divorces.  And, here we are, still together….getting older. Some people come, some go…but the core group is intact.  These girls have supported me when someone I truly loved betrayed and hurt me deeply.  They were there to pick me up when my boys were diagnosed.  They nurture me through the hard times, and they celebrate the good times with me.

You see, I’m not one of those people who allow someone into my inner circle very easily.  I’m friendly and professional, but to be really be “inside”…doesn’t happen easily.  And, once I let you in, you’re in.  It means you’ll be stickin’ around in my life for awhile (like it or not!). 

Since my daughter married and moved out, I live with all males.  The only other source of estrogen is a worthless fat dog with a thyroid disorder.  Sweet, but worthless. My husband is wonderful; he truly is (along with my mom) my VERY best friend.  However, I crave female conversation, entertainment, camaraderie.  I get plenty of it when I go to work, but it’s not the same as “my girls”!

Besides spending more time with my gorgeous man and my great family, one of my motivations to change my work schedule was to also be able to spend more time with “the girls”.  I need it.  It’s important.  We finally got around to arranging a Girls Night Out (GNO) on Saturday night to celebrate Deanna’s birthday a bit early.

We met for dinner, where Deanna and Brandi were late…as usual J  No problem, there was a decent wait for our table of 10, so it gave us more time to cluck like hens.  We had a great dinner, and then headed out to Studio Eighty, which is an 80s-themed night club.  Julie surmised this was a “college bar”, but she was wrong. It was so cool to hang out with like-minded, similarly-aged (read, OLD) folks who were just out to have a good time.  It was great to be there and not be stared out like, “Someone’s MOM is here!”  People-watching is fantastic, and Deanna is ALWAYS good for multiple laughs!  I had to run to the potty so as not to have an accident once. Next time, Depends for sure!  We got a kick out of “landmark”.  (“Turn right by the fat guy to get to the bathrooms). We got a kick out of the serious “sweat towel” kicking black dancer, too!

But, here’s the most important piece.  As is appropriate and welcome, my friends asked about my boys and their diabetes while we were at dinner.  I updated them on their care, their progress, and how it’s been taking an especially hard toll on me emotionally in the last couple of weeks.  They listen, sympathize, and in the meantime, they get a little more enlightened and educated about Type One Diabetes.

After dinner, as I said, we went to the club.  We were there almost 4 hours.  And, guess what?  For FOUR HOURS, I did not think about Diabetes.  I was relaxed to know that my boys were in the very loving, caring, and capable hands of my mother-in-law, and my husband was at home to respond if there was an emergency.  I did not think about blood sugars. Insulin.  Carbohydrates. Endocrinology appointments. Hemoglobin A1C. Basal testing.  Adjusting rates.  Complications. Lifetime medical condition. The unfairness of it all. Nothing. 

Instead, I laughed.  I talked. I exhaled. For those few hours, I laid down my title of “Artificial Pancreas” and I was just “Rhonda.”

So, today, my batteries are recharged.  I’m giggling at the pictures.  Snorting laughing as I tell my stories to my husband. 

Ladies, words cannot express how important you are in my life.  I love your company, your spirits, and your kind words of encouragement.  Now, we need to do this more often so I don’t pull my hair out!  I love you.

Rhonda