As I walked into my house, nothing seemed real. Everything seemed somehow detached. Like it wasn't really there, as if it were somehow detached from my reality. Or I was was detached from everyone else's reality. I walked down the hall and into the family room. I turned on the T.V. but didn't hear anything; only saw the images from a distance. I pulled a chair in front of the T.V. and sat down. It was strange...I wasn't hungry or thirsty or tired. Again, I just was. I sat there. And sat. And sat. I just could not wrap my head around what I had been told. Hours went by and I was still alone. I went upstairs and laid down on my bed and watched T.V. I could hear it now and in doing so was able to distract myself long enough to think. I decided to wait until I got the results of the second tests to say anything to anyone. I watched T.V. all night, not able to fall asleep. Afraid of what I might dream about. Afraid that I wouldn't wake up.
Dr. Bates had told me, in addition to the diabetes, that he was just as concerned about other things. He was concerned about a heart attack or stroke. He told me about something called a heart attack risk ratio and another type of risk ratio. I think that is what it was called, in any case, that is what it meant. What were my chances for having a heart attack or stroke due to a number of factors: cholesterol level, triglyceride level, weight, fat percentage of my body, NO exercise, etc. Low was 3.0 and high was 6.0. Mine was 19.5 or something ungodly around there! I was three and a half times above the high end of the scale. I found out sometime later that he and the rest of the staff used phrases like "ticking time bomb", "we'll see", "I don't know", and "I hope". They genuinely did not know if I would have a heart attack or stroke today, tomorrow, or next month. This is not an exaggeration. This is how close I was to death. This is what put true fear into my soul. I had let my health deteriorate to a point which I almost could not have come back from. And that isn't the scariest part. The scariest part was that I didn't even know that my health was that bad! If it had not been for my out of control diabetes, and subsequently the need to urinate every (what turned out to be) half hour to forty five minutes, I would not have gone to the doctor and would not have found out about it. In all likelihood, I would have just keeled over and died. That thought permeated my entire being. It was only through sheer exhaustion that I finally fell into a nervous and difficult sleep.
On Friday, November 15, 2008 I woke up to the sounds of the garbage man picking up the trash and to bright sunlight streaming into my room. It was only for a fleeting moment that I looked around my room with unconscious eyes. I was then jerked back to my reality with such force as to throw my mind into panic. Just running with such determination that I was unable to stop it. Just running, going, scurrying, sprinting, darting, and dashing endlessly. As I tried to watch my mind, my eyes shot back and forth, from object to object, without ever being able to hold on to anything for more than a second or two. My computer, my bed, the window, the street below, the carpet, the ceiling, the T.V., a chair, the doorway, and then nothing at all. I stared into empty space and then, gradually, outside. The sun made it difficult to see. Everything was so bright. I did not feel a connection anymore. My heart, little by little, slowed down. My breathing calmed. I came to and walked downstairs. I got some orange juice out of the fridge and sat down in front of the T.V. I was actually feeling a little bit better. I thought about what had happened yesterday and when I had woken up this morning. "Well...that was interesting," I thought to myself as I managed a stubborn chuckle and I sat back actually enjoying whatever crap I was watching, "Whew! I feel better now! Things'll be OK. The labs will come back fine." What a relief that I was feeling more optimistic. That, of course, was who I was--optimistic and happy.
This is when I got the call from Dr. Bates. It was around 11am or so and he told me that I definitely had diabetes. There was a finality to that...I definitely had diabetes. There was no room for any other interpretations. I couldn't spin this differently than what it was. Choice had been taken away from me, and what's worse was, I was to blame. Dr. Bates, as I will come to know in the next few months, was not one for sugar coating. He was not rude, but he wouldn't be "nice" to you just so that things would be easier for you. You had to be man, or woman, enough to act like an adult and handle your business. I was for sure, no exception to this. He had asked if I had gotten any books or done any research into what diabetes was. I told him, "No." He was 'miffed' to put it nicely. He told me that I, in fact, was the only one who could save me or kill me. I had to take action. He suggested a few books, one of them was the annual ADA's (American Diabetes Association) Guide to Diabetes. After a few minutes he was done and told me to be in his office on Monday. I hung up the phone and sat down in a chair next to the couch. I didn't know what to do or what to think. I did, however, try to call my parents. They, as luck would have it, did not answer and I left them both a voice mail. I called my sisters Tara and Tiffany. (I would have also called my other sister, Trisha, but she did not have a cell phone at this time.) Neither one of them answered either and I left them a voice mail also. I called some of my friends. None of them answered and I did not leave them voice mails. I stopped trying to call people. I hadn't told anyone. And I felt despair. I felt lost. I was alone.
Dr. Bates had told me, in addition to the diabetes, that he was just as concerned about other things. He was concerned about a heart attack or stroke. He told me about something called a heart attack risk ratio and another type of risk ratio. I think that is what it was called, in any case, that is what it meant. What were my chances for having a heart attack or stroke due to a number of factors: cholesterol level, triglyceride level, weight, fat percentage of my body, NO exercise, etc. Low was 3.0 and high was 6.0. Mine was 19.5 or something ungodly around there! I was three and a half times above the high end of the scale. I found out sometime later that he and the rest of the staff used phrases like "ticking time bomb", "we'll see", "I don't know", and "I hope". They genuinely did not know if I would have a heart attack or stroke today, tomorrow, or next month. This is not an exaggeration. This is how close I was to death. This is what put true fear into my soul. I had let my health deteriorate to a point which I almost could not have come back from. And that isn't the scariest part. The scariest part was that I didn't even know that my health was that bad! If it had not been for my out of control diabetes, and subsequently the need to urinate every (what turned out to be) half hour to forty five minutes, I would not have gone to the doctor and would not have found out about it. In all likelihood, I would have just keeled over and died. That thought permeated my entire being. It was only through sheer exhaustion that I finally fell into a nervous and difficult sleep.
On Friday, November 15, 2008 I woke up to the sounds of the garbage man picking up the trash and to bright sunlight streaming into my room. It was only for a fleeting moment that I looked around my room with unconscious eyes. I was then jerked back to my reality with such force as to throw my mind into panic. Just running with such determination that I was unable to stop it. Just running, going, scurrying, sprinting, darting, and dashing endlessly. As I tried to watch my mind, my eyes shot back and forth, from object to object, without ever being able to hold on to anything for more than a second or two. My computer, my bed, the window, the street below, the carpet, the ceiling, the T.V., a chair, the doorway, and then nothing at all. I stared into empty space and then, gradually, outside. The sun made it difficult to see. Everything was so bright. I did not feel a connection anymore. My heart, little by little, slowed down. My breathing calmed. I came to and walked downstairs. I got some orange juice out of the fridge and sat down in front of the T.V. I was actually feeling a little bit better. I thought about what had happened yesterday and when I had woken up this morning. "Well...that was interesting," I thought to myself as I managed a stubborn chuckle and I sat back actually enjoying whatever crap I was watching, "Whew! I feel better now! Things'll be OK. The labs will come back fine." What a relief that I was feeling more optimistic. That, of course, was who I was--optimistic and happy.
This is when I got the call from Dr. Bates. It was around 11am or so and he told me that I definitely had diabetes. There was a finality to that...I definitely had diabetes. There was no room for any other interpretations. I couldn't spin this differently than what it was. Choice had been taken away from me, and what's worse was, I was to blame. Dr. Bates, as I will come to know in the next few months, was not one for sugar coating. He was not rude, but he wouldn't be "nice" to you just so that things would be easier for you. You had to be man, or woman, enough to act like an adult and handle your business. I was for sure, no exception to this. He had asked if I had gotten any books or done any research into what diabetes was. I told him, "No." He was 'miffed' to put it nicely. He told me that I, in fact, was the only one who could save me or kill me. I had to take action. He suggested a few books, one of them was the annual ADA's (American Diabetes Association) Guide to Diabetes. After a few minutes he was done and told me to be in his office on Monday. I hung up the phone and sat down in a chair next to the couch. I didn't know what to do or what to think. I did, however, try to call my parents. They, as luck would have it, did not answer and I left them both a voice mail. I called my sisters Tara and Tiffany. (I would have also called my other sister, Trisha, but she did not have a cell phone at this time.) Neither one of them answered either and I left them a voice mail also. I called some of my friends. None of them answered and I did not leave them voice mails. I stopped trying to call people. I hadn't told anyone. And I felt despair. I felt lost. I was alone.
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