I remember the first time I heard someone describe their experience with a rare form of cancer -- including intrusive testing, rounds of chemo, a near-deadly infection and a stem cell transplant -- as a gift. 

Whaaaaat? I’d thought. 

But then I saw how they lived -- really lived -- after coming through that ordeal, and I started to understand their perspective. 

And then I had my own experience with a cancer diagnosis, and the limbo time of not knowing how bad it was, or what treatments would be needed, and what outcome might be likely, and that perspective sunk deeply into my bones. 

Getting a scary diagnosis can be a wake-up call for many folks. It was for me. 

And while my cancer experience was relatively easily and quickly resolved with positive outcomes, the lessons that came from it have stayed with me. 

Life is short, so focus on what and who really matters. 

You don’t have put up with bullshit. 

Live in the present. Let go of the past. 

And all the other things you see in trite memes on the interwebs. (And, they’re true.) 

The immediacy and urgency of a scary diagnosis, and coming through the other side, often feels like permission to change things up in our lives. 

I wondered, could that be the case for people with chronic illnesses too? I mean, getting handed a life-limiting or life-altering diagnosis (rather than an imminent or potentially imminent life-ENDING diagnosis) throws your life into total disarray, too. It causes you to question and assess and adjust and learn and stretch and adapt like nothing else, just so you can keep living. 

My experience of having a chronic illness is that it’s like a heavy pack that I can’t ever set down on a hike that never ends (until it does!). It’s a slog.

Could that pack have some gems hidden in it? Could I see a long-term illness from that same perspective -- as a gift? Could that pebble in my shoe that’s piercing my tender arch as I walk through life, actually turn out to be a sparkly little diamond?

I began asking myself: 

What’s the gift of a chronic illness? 

What has it offered, created or inspired in my life? 

What have I learned because of it?

How have I grown because of this illness?

Here’s what I can directly attribute to living with Type 1 diabetes for nearly 40 years: 

1. I’m a master planner and am incredibly organized. I can see an outcome and work backwards to create the minute steps and sequences to arrive there. I love calendars and schedules and had to learn early on how to plan ahead for all outcomes and be prepared -- packing extra food, all my supplies and backups for any outing, whether for an hour or two weeks in a foreign country. It’s why I landed naturally in communications strategy and execution, and strategic planning and project management as parts of my career path.

2. I’m in tune with my body in a way a lot of other people wouldn’t be. I know what it feels like to have plummeting or skyrocketing blood sugar, or the particular cause of a headache based on how it feels and where it starts. I know when to expect a yeast infection based on my blood sugars, or what my blurry eyesight means, or what this level of energy or lack of energy means. I know to expect low blood sugars when my hormones are cycling at certain times of the month. The number of times I pause during a day and listen and feel into my body to inform my choices -- whether to eat, sleep, walk, get on a call with a client -- is likely in the range of 100-200 times a day. In fact, a study out of Stanford several years ago found that diabetics make 180 extra health-related decisions a day compared to non-diabetics. Those decisions are based on both quantitative and qualitative data; checking in with our bodies is second-nature.  

3. I know more about food and nutrition than most people, and the way those foods, in combination and alone, impact my body. I know the carbohydrate, protein and fat counts of most foods without looking at labels. I know how I will feel after eating a bowl of pasta or a handful of grapes or one Halloween-sized chocolate bar.

4. I can do mental math to calculate the amount of insulin I need to take to be able to absorb any food safely into my body and maintain blood sugars in my target range, while weighing other contributing factors like exercise (how much? how long? what kind?), how much onboard insulin is coursing through my veins, hormonal fluctuations, and the digestion rate of food I’ve eaten earlier and will eat later. 

5. I have a high pain tolerance from stabbing myself with lancets and needles and inserting cannulas and other subcutaneous devices over the years, as well as going for regular blood work...every three months I get stabbed by the professionals. To give you an idea of how many pokes and injections I’ve had… over 38 years at an average of 4 blood tests a day (understanding that on day when my blood sugar is bouncing around, I’ve tested in the range of 15-20 times), I’ve had my fingers poked over 55,000 times (which is why I have no fingerprints on some of my fingers); over the 20 years my insulin was delivered by needle, I have injected approximately 22,000 of them; and since switching to an insulin pump 18 years ago, I’ve inserted almost 2200 infusion sets.

6. I’ve created healthy boundaries in my life to ensure I don’t burn out (again), get dehydrated (again)...or mentally come undone (again). I’ve learned to say no, to assess my energy inputs and outputs, and protect myself from physical and mental harm. I’ve learned what my limitations are and how to truly care for myself so I can be productive and feel like a contributing member of my family and society. 

7. I know how to navigate the healthcare and health insurance systems, and how to advocate for myself. I learned how to trust my gut and use my voice to get what I need from the systems I fund that are supposed to serve me. 

8. I’m compassionate toward others, especially those who manage a disease, condition or are dealing with upheaval. We don’t know what others are dealing with, and empathy goes a long way in giving others the benefit of the doubt and some grace to get through their day. 

Through the conversations I’ve been having with others who answered the call to share their experiences -- long-term illness managers, their partners or spouses, their parents or adult children -- I’ve collected some of the other gifts that chronic conditions have revealed in their lives. I’ve paraphrased and directly quoted their brilliance (without revealing identities) below:

I’m super resilient. 

I can do hard things, and make them look easy.

I have a high pain tolerance: I can take a lot, and keep going. 

I’ve learned to really prioritize what’s important to me, and to focus my energy there, because I can’t do it all, and my capacity will change over time. I’m squeezing the best out of my time. 

I’ve found community through sharing honestly, and received positive affirmation and validation and support in response. Even though it was scary, I shared publicly about really personal things, like the impact of the condition on my new marriage and our sex life, and found support in my community. 

I’m independent and self-sufficient. I learned how to take care of myself at a very young age. 

I’ve learned to ask for help and, more importantly, to accept it. 

I’ve learned to live for each moment; this is all we have and it’s not going to get better than it is today, so seek the joy in each moment. 

I find hope and joy in the small, everyday things. When each day might be my last, I’ve learned to savour my people and everyday comforts -- my favourite chair, my cozy sweater, the taste of apple pie. 

I’m still fucking awesome! Despite [this condition], I’m still a contributing member of society, an amazing parent and partner, and I’m living a life that’s good and meaningful. 

These feel like a balm to my heart, when I think about all the struggles and challenges and extra burden these folks carry, just to get through a day. 

If you’re in the same boat -- managing a long-term condition -- and it gets you down, I encourage you to sit with these prompts to begin to open up the possibility of gifts that you have received because of your condition. These can be a place to turn for comfort on those especially hard days we all have from time to time. 

Without this condition:  

I wouldn’t have learned…

I wouldn’t have tried…

I wouldn’t have met…

I wouldn’t have…

If you want help to explore the gifts of your condition more deeply, or you’re really struggling to believe your situation offers any gifts, I invite you to consider participating in Positively Chronic, a 6-week mental fitness program to help rewire your neural pathways from negative thinking to positive thinking. Through it, you’ll build your “mental muscles” to be able to more quickly and easily find the gifts and opportunity in any situation or event. It’s been a game changer for me in how I manage the mental burden of living with a chronic condition, and I know it can help you too. Reach out if you want to discuss how you could benefit from participating.

Here’s what I know is true:

You are stronger than you think.

You have already done many hard things.

And, you are loved, no matter what.