Maybe it won’t hit you at the first undeniable signs
Or at the hospital, his name written on the board
And on the bracelet around your wrist
Just like hers was many years ago
Maybe it won’t hit you at home
His syringes strewn all over the kitchen counter
Just like her syringes and vials
On her nightstand years earlier
Maybe it won’t hit you at the pharmacy
When you need to sort out his orders, then hers
When you leave with insulin for both
When you pay double the copay
Maybe it won’t hit you on the phone
Supplies and appointments for her, then for him
Double the time on hold
Double the logistical burden
Maybe it won’t hit you when you check on him
Do his injections, replace his devices
Count the carbs, calculate the dosage
Then prep her pump for site change
Maybe there is no hit?
No one-two punch
You’ve been doing it for so long
Why does it matter that it’s now double?
Maybe it is just a double take
When you see him do his shots,
Check his numbers, treat his lows
Our inescapable new reality
And you watch him, as you used to watch her
With a pang in your chest and a pit in your stomach
With a bubbling of anger, a wave of sadness
In disbelief, surreal, all over again