A Letter From Mr. Pancreas

Dear Allison,

My friends and I have been getting quite a bit of bashing lately and I think it’s time to set the record straight.

Okay, I know I haven’t been the greatest pancreas in the entire world, but come on, it’s not exactly my fault! You think I like being crippled? All the other organs make fun of me! Mr. Liver laughs because he can make your blood sugar go up, but try as I might, I just can’t get it to come down. Really, I think you should have a talking to with Mr. Liver. And the Eye Brothers and the Kidney Twins, well, they just harass me all day long because I’m too weak to fend off the Glucose Gang. It’s humiliating! You think I wanted to be defective? It’s not like I woke up one morning and said, “Gee, I think a life of uselessness is right up my alley.”

Nuh uh, sister.

Oh, I know, you think it’s just another lame excuse about a virus brainwashing your army of T-cells (notice the “your” in the sentence). I took Biochemistry when you were in utero. I know organs don’t just die! Psychotic T-cells… They think they’re so cool with their full body armor and ray guns, showing those viruses who’s boss. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a virus!

I’m sorry it happened. Really, I am. If there was some way I could regenerate, I would. But no, I’m stuck here, in the dark, squished between Ms. Stomach and the Intestine Groupies. Unbelievably bored. If I had eyes, there would be tears. You can only watch the Facts of Life so many times before you start whining to the TV Mrs. Garrett about how mean Mr. Liver is.

I’m sitting here, twiddling my theoretical thumbs, impatiently waiting for some doctor dude to figure out how to unbreak me. And what on God’s green earth is taking so damn long? This is not brain surgery!

My friends and I are sorry that you and your friends have to have to pick up so much of the slack and wheel us around. Trust me, we’re as impatient as you. I know there isn’t a clock in here but I’m fairly certain it’s been five years. Possibly longer…

Maybe I should buy a watch.

Yours whether you like it or not,
Mr. Pancreas