Diabetes Blog Week Post #7
As the week of prompts comes to a close, we’re supposed recognize someone important in the realm of diabetes.
I could take this post and talk about the doctor who diagnosed me or the CDE who has answered endless questions, the phlebotomist who put up with my fear of needles or countless other medical professionals who’ve been a part of my diabetes management.
I think this is an excellent time to talk about the night I came home from the hospital.
After the hours of waiting, frustration and uncertainty about going home, my sweet nurse came in and removed my IVs and told me to go ahead and get dressed (real clothes?! Amazing!) because I was going to get to go home before her shift ended. She left to get my discharge order signed and prescriptions written. My husband returned from his dinner in the cafeteria to find me dressed and waiting in my chair. With follow-ups scheduled and prescriptions in hand, I gulped down the last gross cup of potassium, signed a bunch of paperwork and was wheeled out of my room to the elevator.
When we arrived home, Brad got me fresh clothes and a towel and sent me off to take the best shower of my life.
My in-laws were waiting in the living room when I was finished. We were in dire need of groceries since I’d been so sick for so long and Brad was living at the hospital and merely sleeping at home. Arrangements were made for my mother-in-law to accompany Brad to the pharmacy and grocery store and my father-in-law and brother-in-law would stay with me until they returned.
While Brad and his mom were out, life felt a tiny bit like normal. Those of us back at the ranch watched the movie Despicable Me. When they had returned with groceries and insulin, we reviewed the food against my dietary orders then put it all away and figured out my life for the next few days.
Then came the moment of truth…
“I don’t think I can do this!” I exclaimed with tears in my eyes. Although receiving encouragement from everyone that I could do it, it still felt like the end of the world to me. My mother-in-law (who is a pro at taking shots) offered to give me my first shot, which I declined since I knew that I needed to do it. She then offered to hold my hand and help me. I felt better knowing that whether I gave myself the shot or not, she would make sure I got that insulin even if she had to give it to me herself.
I gave myself the shot. It was Lantus and it burned like heck as it diffused through the tissue of my stomach.
Let’s rewind a bit
We lived conveniently close to Brad’s family at that point in time (that means 5 minutes down the road). So on August 11, 2011 after throwing up and deciding I was sick of feeling sick, I called my mother-in-law and said meekly, “I have an appointment with the doctor in an hour and I don’t think I can drive myself. Can you take me?” She picked me up for my appointment. When the doctor told me how serious my situation was and asked if I had someone with me, the nurse retrieved her. She took the strict instructions to drive me directly to the hospital to heart and held my hand while I called my husband to relay my diagnosis.
She and my brother-in-law stayed with me through the admitting process and until my husband arrived from work. They then went back to our house and retrieved the things that I wanted or needed.
Knowing that someone would stick me with a needle for my own good helped give me the courage to take that shot. I can’t imagine other diabetics who are diagnosed as adults having to go through that entirely alone.
Diabetes Blog Week
Post #1: Find a Friend
Post #2: One Great Thing
Post #3: One Thing to Improve
Post #4: Fantasy Diabetes Device
Post #5: What They Should Know
Post #6: Snapshot Saturday