Wednesday, March 23, 2011
"D" used to stand for many things, Debra, Dog, David...now Diabetes. My D-day was February 2, 2011. The day I was taken from my home by ambulance to the emergency room, in so much pain and shortness of breath I couldn't walk. (Luckily, my husband was able to carry me down our stairs). I remember thinking, as we were leaving my house, "they don't have on the sirens, that's a good sign". Though, I must have fallen asleep, or passed out, because I only recall turning onto one street after mine, remembering nothing till I got into the hospital. Once there I wanted something for the pain, and water my mouth was like cotton. However, they couldn't give me anything until they figured out what was wrong with me. At some point, I don't know how long, (I'm guessing they gave me something), I woke up to see my oldest daughter had come, as well as one of my sister's and brother-in-law. My husband was very concerned, as most would be, however he has worked in the hospital environment for many years and he was usually very calm about medical stuff, which would always reassure me that things were ok. So when I saw his reation I knew this was serious. Then I heard things like "dka" (diabetic ketoacidosis), "blood sugar over 400", admitting to ICU. My thoughts were "What, diabetic, Intensive Care". The rest of that day, that night and the following day were spent with what seemed like every hour (probably more like 2) finger poking, twice a day lab tests. Hunger, (was never so happy to get chicken broth), crazy caffine headache, then I was sent home 2 days later with a whole new way of life. How do I feel about this? I don't really know. I'm obviously glad to be alive, because I was close to the alternative. But I will never be able to just eat, and believe you me, I love to eat. I'm not talking pigging out. Just eating, I need the right amount of carbs, not to little or too much. Or eat whenever I feel like it, sleep in, eat at 10:00. Every meal is at a certain time and is preceded with a pricking of my finger for blood sugar level and a shot of insulin. The food needs to be on the table and ready to eat as soon as I take my shot, so by the time I get through the whole routine my food gets cold, I HATE cold food, unless it's supposed to be cold. I've gone through every possible emotion there is. Sadness, anger, bitterness, questioning God. He still hasn't shown why, but I'm guessing He will when He's ready. I just wanted to grow old gracefully. Requiring as little care from others as possible. You know, if they don't get you out of bed in time to go to the bathroom, you just pee on yourself, or if you don't get a shower as often as you would like, you just stink. Now when I'm old and feeble I will have to rely on someone for my life. MY LIFE I'm telling you. That is a huge responsiblity to place on someone else, and it just saddens me deeply. I was at a bookstore, the other day looking at diabetes books. There was one called D-Tour, and I didn't catch the play on words at first, then I finally did. I was driving down this road called life, then suddenly came to an obstacle in the road and had to take a detour (d-tour). The only thing is usually those kind of detours take you back to the road you were once on. My D-Tour has veered me off that road and is taking me down a totally different one, never to return to the other.