My Story (page 3)
While I sat there in mass confusion, my name is called and I realize someone is helping me into a wheelchair. Why am I here? It's my brother's birthday today. We're going out to dinner when he gets off of work.
I look at my parents who are wringing their hands with anxiety. I am laying on a bed in the ER. A nurse is busily preparing both my arms for IV.
I was scared.
My doctor turns out to be a handsome , distinguished man whose pleasant demeanor calms my nerves just a bit. He asks me to open my mouth so he can smell my breath. Embarrassed and sure that it stinks, I reluctantly obey.
He stands up abruptly. I squirm from embarrassment. "Just as I thought. Diabetic ketoacidosis."
Diabetawhat?
My doctor explains what diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA) is and that I shouldn't worry - my breath doesn't stink - it smells like nail polish remover. Acetone.
"Absolute insulin deficiency"
"Hyperglycemia"
"Dehydration"
"Acidosis"
"Type 1"
Only the last two words caught my attention. Everything else was a blur.
Type 1?? But... my doctor said.... So.... My body produces no insulin? I lay there in shock. I thought earlier that day that I handled the news well. I could handle watching my diet and taking pills for the rest of my life. Or until we find a cure. But to take injections everyday for as long as I live?? I didn't want to accept it. I looked at my parents and watched their images blur and felt the tears pouring down my cheeks. Type 1. Why me...
