I open the passenger door in my Dad's silver Toyota Corolla. I'm wearing a grey shirt that is usually tight on me and a green pair of cords with no belt. Obviously, it's 7:15AM.
"You look awful." says Dad.
"You smell funny." I reply.
We chuckle, and then I tell him that I went to Uncle Bills pancake house with Maureen at 12:30 in the morning- probably didn't help my sugars out at all.
"You are going to be the worst diabetic ever." he says.
The rest of the short car ride is a haze, as well as the waiting room. I had gotten used to hazes, I had been living in a constant haze the entire previous month. I was always tired. I took naps every day. ( I HATE NAPS) I couldn't judge depths very well in frisbee. Reality, and how I went about my day to day life was completely blurred.
Then I came to, sitting in the hospital ER waiting room. I told my dad that I was sorry he had to be missing work for all of this; and that I hated being a hassle. His response: "We'll call your mother after you get the results back."
Geez! I hadn't even thought about my mom. She would be a wreck. She would try to bring comfort but I knew would bring stress. I really love my mom, but was too tired for fuss. All of a sudden, Kyle Benson, my best friend on the ultimate frisbee team walked right past me in the foyer. We met eyes and did a quadruple take at each other. I later learned that he had stayed all night at the hospital with one of his residents (he was an RA) and was not in a friendly mood. We didn't have time to talk because they called my name shortly thereafter, but his smile did two things for me. It was comforting. It also reassured me that I was sick.
So I go back to one of the rooms with my Dad and the nurse. She sits me down and immediately says: "You know why you're here right?"
She then attaches the IV to my left arm. I'm really glad I don't remember that claw going into my arm. Wow! Anyway she's talking and I'm half listening. She then gives me a shot of insulin. Just a small one, and BAM! I feel normal for the first time in months! I no longer had to urinate. I wasn't thirsty. (two sensations that I had long forgotten) I was salivating. And for the first time in weeks, I was starving. The nurse asked me how I felt. My answer:
"Could you get me a Hardees Thickburger?"
After laughing at a muffled OMG from my father, she said she would get me a hamburger from the cafeteria as long as I provided a urine sample. O no. This wasn't fair. After having to urinate for three months, she asks me to do it after I finally do not have to? I sat there bewildered. Blinking wide eyed at this impossible assignment and remarking how normal I feel to my Dad, I finally say: "I can't do it." 20 minutes go by, still nothing. She finally walks in with undoubtedly the best cheeseburger I have ever had, and asks about my progress. I say it's impossible.
"Well, if you can't get some for me in ten minutes, I'd be happy to go get a cathader..." she said chuckling.
Now, I'm not someone that is bothered by things. I'll admit further in this story. I was never really worried about diabetes. I never cried. My mom didn't get it. I was laughing. I liked company in the hospital, even the numerous doctors and entourages looking at me over the next three days. The cathader scared the willies out of me. You better believe I produced a sample in the next two minutes.
I had been in the small room for about an hour by now. I was still starving, but smiling because of how much better I felt. The nurse didn't get it. I'm not sure my Dad did either. The day before I went to the emergency room by Blood Glucose Level was 604. Trust me I wouldn't wish that experience on anyone.
I have to run to class, sorry. I promise I'll finish this story later this evening.
Good bye, my love.
3 years ago