Physical Therapy School is Here!

Tomorrow is the first day of physical therapy school, and as much as I would like to proclaim to the world that I am ready and three steps ahead, the *honest* truth is that I am anxious, a little worried and very, very aware of what an exhilarating but weary journey this will be.

Orientation didn't get off to the best start, but I guess that is to be expected when you leave for home at 6... with 7 hours of driving to go. It's ok, think of me as you wish. I totally deserve it. The trip from Orlando to Atlanta was gruesome. I had to take a ton of breaks, stop at a gas station at 2 for a twenty minute nap, and ended up getting in at 3 instead of the 12:50 a.m. arrival time that I should have had. I stumbled home and up the stairs to pass out, setting my alarm for a bright and early 5:40 a.m. Naturally, this meant that I got about... 2 hours of sleep. The alarm went off entirely too soon, and having drilled into my brain that this class was more important than 8 a.m. Physics (which I always managed to oversleep for), I wearily pushed myself out of bed and into the shower, got dressed, got my bag, made a protein shake and was out the door. I wasn't sure what to expect with traffic, so I left about an hour and twenty minutes early. I hit traffic as soon as I got on the interstate, although even with the crazy stop and go, which somehow seemed to still be functional, I arrived at school in 24 minutes, so I had plenty of time.

I had chugged about 2 bottles of water before arriving in an attempt to wake up, and arrived at the Trustees Dining Room at Mercer bright eyed and bushy tailed to meet my fellow PT students and faculty. Likely the last free breakfast of my Graduate career: check. Ice breaker: check. Professor that researches Diabetes: check, and yay. Don't get me wrong, orientation was a really helpful experience, but it was extremely hard to sit for almost 9 straight hours until 5. We had another tour of the campus, had several of the staff and faculty come to brief us on different aspects of the school, talked amongst ourselves, had a couple of lectures, lunch and shared a lot of laughs. I ashamedly started nodding off a couple of times, simply out of pure exhaustion; when I got home, I went for a walk to the local farmer's market to try and get my mind going. I saw "Guardians of the Galaxy" with one of my friends at the Drive-In movie theatre here. I got home, tried to chill out, and did my best to tackle the huge mound of emails from clients that I had completely neglected during my time in Florida and the terrible endocrinologist appointment (more on that later). I folded laundry. There was so much computer work to do that I started falling asleep on the couch. It was 2 a.m. before I stumbled up to bed, and it was much too late for me chastise myself for not going to bed sooner. I was still adjusting from summer and had forgotten I had another early morning.

Thus, the next morning was even worse. I slept in a little later since I knew that it didn't take 1.5 hours to get to class, but 6:20 a.m. still came far too early for my taste. I stumbled out of bed. Sleep deprivation was taking its toll. My face was drained of colour, I looked like a ghost, and my mind felt as though it was operating at about 65%. I felt terrible. I stumbled to Day 2 of orientation, putting on my best face, drank about 3 bottles of water, met with my academic adviser Dr. Fabrizio, and by the time we breaked for lunch at 12, I made my way to the car to drive home since we had 2 hours and I had forgotten a pair of pants for one of the two birthday parties I was working later. I hit traffic, which I was not expecting for the middle of the afternoon, though now I hear Fridays are just bad traffic days. I had enough time to take a 20 minute nap, and for my non-nap inclined self, was startlingly happy about this. I had never passed out sooner in my life I think. I woke up to my alarm going off 20 minutes later, having collapsed face down on the couch. Drool and all, seriously, my level of exhaustion had reached critical levels. I made it on time to the white coat ceremony, while trying to fight dozing off again. I left the white coat ceremony, and by some freak of nature, as I mentioned earlier, had TWO parties to do that evening, back to back. I rushed to the first one, fighting traffic and wrong turns the whole way until I was finally there. I did that party, then rushed to the next one. The party lasted until about 10:30... I stumbled out at 11. My hair drooped. My head  drooped. My eyes were sandbags that wouldn't stay open. I was so tired that as soon as I got on the highway I had to pull off at an exit and rest at a gas station. I locked my doors, but this time I was so tired I slept through my alarm and when I awoke, it was after 1:00 A.M. the lights were dark and it was scarily quiet. I sighed and couldn't believe myself. By some miracle I made it home. I stumbled into bed, all of my more tired that I had ever been.

Saturday I had two parties, but thankfully was able to sleep in until about 8; still tired, but the tiredness wasn't critical as it had been. I was able to relax the rest of the evening, go for a run, make lunch for the week and unwind. Today was even better; I had a relaxing morning and even fit in some studying amongst my ritual weekend chores (vacuuming, tea making, organizing my balloon aprons, paint brush cleaning and remembering that I should wash my sheets). I managed to get it all done, go to a birthday party as the Frozen Queen up in Jasper, get a pretty view of the mountains and stop there for a Walmart shopping trip, since I have yet to find the Walmart in ATL and don't know that if I find it that I'll necessarily like what I see (Atlanta is sketchy enough as it is!)

So this weekend has been good for me, and I learned a very important lesson on the power of sleep. If I keep myself centered and focused, I think I will be fine. I know PT school is going to be hard... but I know that everytime I think of the people I am passionate about helping, that I will remember how worth it this journey will be.

It's here, guys. My dream of being a Physical Therapist is here, and it begins with this single step, this single first day.

Here goes nothing, and here's to getting used to having males in my class again after 3 years at a women's college.
Go Bears! ;)

Atlanta.

Well, after all the years, all the countless blog posts, all the anticipation, the worry -
The unkown is here, and it's not what I expected in the least.

It's better.

Atlanta is different. It was going to be, and I knew it from the moment that I pulled onto my new street at my new home, as "my sweet summer" by the Dirty Heads played and I pushed my sunglasses back to get a better look.
The pace of the city: faster. No more slow, sickly sweet southern moseying to be found here. The good old southern boys are gone, no place for huge trucks in a city that makes my small nissan versa feel too big on its narrow streets.
Things are open all the time.  Coffee shops don't have summer hours. The city doesn't sleep. The graffiti rivals museum art on some building walls.

This city captivates and perplexes me. It enveloped me, like a dream embraces the sleeping mind - wholly and completely,  with no memory of how it did so in the first place. It just came to be, and in that moment, became my new reality. I can see the city skyscrapers as I walk near my home, and as I quietly and calmly learn to adapt to driving and walking these new streets, I think now of how incredibly lucky I am.

I think of how I ever worried that Atlanta would be anything other than the greatest adventure of  my life thus far. I think of how much I love this overwhelming yet empowering change of pace,  surge of life, and different culture that I have found myself a part of. I am perplexed at how content I was with Macon when, compared to glittering Atlanta, Macon is but a dot on a map! If not for the people, Macon feels stifling now, too small, almost boxed in. Atlanta is a river rushing by, and Macon is but a quietly, slowly moving pool to its side.

I feel fulfilled, empowered, I feel full of potential and life. I feel whole, like a small piece of me that was missing fell into place. I feel happier than I remember in a long time. Every day brings truly new experiences, new places, new excitement. New faces, fresh air, room to breathe in this fabulously rough, earthly, grungy, sparkling, overwhelming, fast paced, crowded city. To know that this place lies at my fingertips every single day that I wake is the most incredibly exhilarating feeling of my life. In this immense city, there is a place for me, and I fit in like the missing word of a crossword puzzle: in a maze, but perfectly where I am supposed to be.

I walk places. I am inspired. I have written more poems in a week than I have in the past year. I feel challenged, but in control.

And I feel utterly, completely,  and wholly that I am right where I am supposed to be.

7 Months and Then Some.

Last month I meant to write this post, but due to the recent writer's block, I put it off to the wayside a little.


There's a spot on highway 96 near Reynolds that draws my eye every time. It doesn't seem like much, but this is the exact place that, nearly 8 months ago, I was in a terrible car accident and totaled my truck. Driving by still sends waves of confusion and a deep cold sense of actuality straight to my heart, like ice. I don't know what to think, there are so many mixed emotions that come from it.

At first, I never wanted to drive  by this place again. There are other routes to Columbus, Georgia, but my GPS seems to like to take me to this place a lot. I sucked up the courage back in December, though, promising I wouldn't think about it too much, wouldn't look for it...

But morbidly, of course, my eyes scanned the guardrail, and I knew immediately when I had found the place with the dent in the guardrail and the large concrete pole next to it that I saw looming at me as my vehicle flipped. I blinked for a second and heard screeching and smelled the burning, rubbery, oily smell of wreckage. The glass fragmenting. My eyes remember the blood stain on the bodice of my old Cinderella dress that won't come off. Tiny things as they are, they are all reminders. Terrible, powerful little things.

That will always be one of the most traumatizing experiences of my life. It, like being diagnosed with Diabetes, though, made me even more grateful for the life that God has given me. My accident was a terrible thing, but I somehow made it through the difficulty and survived past it. It made life harder, but I learned to adapt to the difficulty.

Many times in life I have caught myself wondering at God, saying, he hasn't given me more than I can handle, but he will push the limits... pretty damn far. And he does. I don't know why. To test us? To make us better people? To help us to earn strengths that will make us stronger people? Great blogging material for writers like me? I don't know.

Pain colours this world - pain lies behind the eyes of every individual who has felt it. Pain drives poetry and writing, painting and music. And joy does, too. Those two wonderful, terrible dichotomies of each other need the other to put the other into perspective. The greater the pain, the deeper the capacity for joy, I believe. The greater the challenges, the stronger you will be if you struggle past them and fight with all that you have. The greater the fire that will burn within you.

I am grateful to be alive and grateful to have been given the means and faculties to move past this traumatic event in my life. It is also a solemn reminder though, to take care and to remember how fragile life is. To laugh at the silly things and cherish the moments we have together. To remember that despite the terrible things, we have to learn to also confront them and find inner peace with the bad things that have happened to us. To breathe and let our heart strings, tight and painful, fall loose just a little bit so that our chest doesn't feel like it's about to snap... to keep pushing forward, to let our experiences shape us but not control us. To use them to empower ourselves and let them allow us to create the person we want to be. We all make choices when we decide how we want the moments of our lives to effect us. And we all make different choices - it's one of the ways in which we humans are all so different.

As I drive past the guardrail for maybe the last time - living in Atlanta will have me take a different route to Columbus - I think of all these things, I close my eyes for a brief moment, and simultaneously let go of and embrace my past for all that it is. I am alive, I am here, and my future lies before me - ready to be shaped in whatever way I see fit.

"I Swear, This is the Worst Outfit to Get Into a Car Accident In."

There are certain events that come into our lives, like blips on the radar that stand out from the rest.

Happy ones - birthdays, graduating, falling in love.

And tragic ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. December 8th falls into the latter category.

I've thought heavily about writing about this, because for me it's so soon. It's hard. It puts a pit in my heart. Being in a car accident wasn't the worst thing that could happen to me, but it was one of the worst things that has ever happened to me in my life. As hard as writing about it will be, I will, because I've always tried my best to write it all down on my blog - that way I get it all out, that way it's therapeutic like it's supposed to be. 

My day on December 8th, 2013:  

Dressed and ready for work, I got in my truck and started the 90 minute sojourn to Columbus. It was an overcast day; drizzling a little, and cold. I was in my long blue princess gown. One of my friends texted me to wish me a safe drive before I'd left. I thought that was funny - I made the drive weekly for a Tuesday gig, and had done it countless times. 

As I drove down Highway 96 just out of Reynolds, I let my mind daydream as it always does. The roads were largely empty, as backroads here often are. My truck hit the grass on the median on my left side a little. Suddenly, what was intended to be a simple matter of straightening out went terribly, terribly wrong. My adjustment to the right turned into a swerve, and another, and another.I was swerving all over the road, and I'd never had a defensive driving class, I didn't know what to do. This isn't too out of control. I can still straighten this out. Just give me a sec... 

I couldn't do it. My car was out of control, and it all happened so fast, it took a big swerve to the left, over the median, and flipped. If you want the precise logistics of what happened, I can say this: I can't tell you. It was all glass and noise to me as I watched helplessly.
From there on, it was a deafening melange of tumbling, rolling, screeching, shattering, shuddering, and fear.
In my mind's eye, the moment that stands out most is the moment where I see myself hurdling towards the guard rail on the opposite side of the road, the incoming traffic side. It is happening so fast that all I have time to do is watch in horror. I am a puppet, a doll, merely a side effect of the terrible accident happening around me. I had no control. The guard rail separated the road from a large drop off. I thought I might go over. I saw a huge concrete pole looming above me. Would I hit it?

I thought all of this in a split second, and I thought I was going to die. They say you have flashbacks of your life. (Who says that? The dead?) I didn't have flashbacks, but it was a moment that I'll remember for the rest of my life. The feelings and scars might heal in time, but I'll always remember the feeling of truly believing that I am going to die. What I felt was... acceptance.I was terrified, but in the moment, I felt acceptance of what was happening, I felt that I was going to be okay, whether I died or lived. I felt surprisingly little fear just then. I could have screamed, I could have said a million things, but I only said one thing, and that was
"Help, God." And I left it in his hands.

Then the moment speeds up, and the car is still rolling but I'm not moving, there is something all around me holding me still. I guess the airbags have come out, because something big and white surrounds me, but I'm so shocked that I can't even remember them coming out. Glass is shattering around me and I see my car tumbling back onto the wrong side of the road again. I've ping ponged, and then I hear screeching, and I'm rolling around and around and around, and then suddenly eerie silence. I feel as though I've been swinging on a swing set and suddenly I fall off on the midswing upwards: I have no bearings and I've tumbled down and the ground suddenly comes out of nowhere. The road appears in my vision out of nowhere as the car has stilled. I'm sideways. Everything has stopped. My car has stopped. That is when the fear truly began.

The smell was sickening, like burned rubber and exhaust and gasoline. I knew I was in shock. I could feel it, and I was aware of it, but I couldn't stop myself from feeling that way and couldn't stop the way I acted during the shocked stage. Even now recalling these memories makes me sad, bring emotions pouring through me.

"Shit, shit, shit, Oh God, how did this just happen, why, why? God, help, God, why, please, please, no, no, this can't have happened, no..." 
My face paint brushes were strewn across the asphalt, my balloons everywhere, all I could think of was that I wasn't going to make it to my party, and Oh God, my car is totalled, how am I going to drive, how am I going to drive to school, to work, how did I fuck up so bad? 
I was dry sobbing as I got my bearings and tried to get up. My car was laying sideways and kind of face down, at an odd angle that it wasn't supposed to be in, and what was once my driver side window was laying above me, and my windshield lay shattered and on the ground. I try to get up, but my long dress is stuck, and I can't get free. I am trapped. Humorous in hindsight, not so much at that moment, I think: Shit, am I going to have to crawl out of the car into the road in my underwear?
I manage to yank my dress free, and I pull myself up to the window.
A woman comes running up to me. Oh my God, are you ok, are you ok? Are you the only one in there? Is there anyone else? 
I cry back that I'm the only one, I'm ok and I'm alone. I crawl out. I am sobbing now, and suddenly a crowd of people surround me, and I sob harder. "I DON'T UNDERSTAND!" I yell, angry at the world. "How did this happen? Why God, why did this happen to me? How does that just HAPPEN? I DON'T UNDERSTAND."
"I was just... driving... and then  was swerving, and then this happened, and Oh God, this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me in my life, God, God," I sob, into the arms of a complete stranger. And then the shock sets in more. "Sweetie, sweetie, hush, shh, it's ok. You're alive." the woman whose arms I'm in says to me. "It's a miracle. You're alive."
I couldn't hush. I started to panick. I was in such a state of shock that I didn't realize I'd lost my shoes in the accident. My crown was askew. Mascara ran down my face. I was running on glass, on the shattered remains of my windows, while the remains of my truck and the scattered contents of what were in it lie hodgepodge across the road. It felt post apocalyptic. Glass dug into my feet as I ran to the remnants, panicky, searching for my phone. I peered inside the cab, but I only saw my phone case on the ground, and no phone attached to the charger... my phone was missing, my shoes were missing, my jacket was missing, but I saw my glucometer lying on the ground, and frantically picked that up, knowing I'd need it later but not finding much comfort at all from having it. "Honey, you need to sit down. You're in shock. You need to stop running around." Someone said. "I can't!", I cried back. "I CAN'T. I can't. I have to DO something. There's so much to do... so much to do...I can't find my phone and I HAVE to let my boyfriend know. He'll be so worried. I just need to find it... I need to... I have to tell him..."
In my shock-worn mind, all I could think of in that moment was the unrivaled NEED to find my phone and call Joshua. I didn't want to talk to anyone else, he could help and he'd know what to do and he'd take care of everything. The problem was... the only phone number I knew by heart at the time was my mom's. I tried calling my mom on someone's phone that they had lent me several times, but no answer. If I couldn't find my phone, I was stranded out here, and didn't know who else I could call for help.
An ambulance arrived, but I was still running around, crying, screaming that I had to talk to Joshua, I just had to talk to him. Someone escorted me to the ambulance. "You HAVE to at least let them check you out," a woman said. Even in my shocked mind, I avoided medical bills like the plague. (I am a well seasoned Diabetic at this point and familiar with medical costs). I know that sounds stupid, but I started yelling "Am I going to get CHARGED if I let them check me out? You are NOT taking me to the hospital! I'm FINE! I don't have insurance..." I was assured I would not be charged, so I let someone help me up. I was still freaking out. "Please," I told one of the women. "Please, someone try and find my phone. I just want to let my boyfriend know what's going on. He'll be so worried."
I was next to inconsolable, but I allowed the ambulance man to check my blood pressure (it was ok), and use a stethoscope on me. "I'm Diabetic," I told him. He took out a meter. "I'm sure it's fine, though. I just checked it before I left for work." "Type 1 or Type 2?" He asked. "Type 1," I said. He replies with a "Yeah, that makes sense. Type 1's always know what their blood sugar is. Type 2's never do."
That got a laugh out of me.

He approached me with a lancet; "I'm using my own," I said, "I don't like other people lancet-ing me!" And he laughed. My sugar was sitting pretty at 100, as I'd predicted. "That's one good thing I guess," I said. He sat down next to me. "Well, if it's any consolation, you look mighty pretty," and he winked. "I did," I corrected him, wiping away a tear. "I was going to be a princess at a little girl's party." Someone approached the ambulance. "Sweetie, this reverend here would like to pray with you." She said. I was still distraught, and my heart pitter pattered in my ribs, but I acquiesced. Someone put their coat over me and told me to keep it.
The three of us: a reverend, an off duty cop, and a disheveled princess, made a ragtag group. We prayed. The reverend thanked God that I had made it through safely. "Don't worry about material things," he said, when we were done. "They are replaceable. You are not."
He was right. I had made it safely through the accident. It's just... now I had to deal with the consequences left here in the land of the living.

Someone found my phone, amazingly enough, and it was working. I'd cracked my phone from dropping it a year ago on the ground; yet it had made it through a car wreck with not a scratch. (WTF?)
I called Joshua right away. I told him what had happened, and him and Travis were on the way to come get me. I called my client and told her what had happened. I felt so bad.
After deeming that I was OK, I declared that I was getting out and climbed out of the ambulance, still running around in shock, but the buzz was wearing off. My dress dragged through the mud and glass. I didn't care. Someone had found my shoes and handed them to me. "I swear," I told them, trying to have a sense of humor.

"This is the worst outfit to get into a car accident in."

I brushed off the glass best I could and put my feet, scratched and bloody, into them. I guess it was ironic, for little Cinderella had lost her shoes, and stepped on glass.

The shock was starting to wear off but was replaced by still inconsolable heartache. And I could feel pain. My feet now hurt, but the rest of me miraculously felt ok. Tears still fell down my face, but I did my best to gather what I could of my belongings. Paintbrushes, balloons, dresses, car parts, the contents of my purse - I found my jacket, lodged underneath the hood, dug into the mud. I couldn't pull it out under the weight, so I was glad for the jacket that had been given to me. I hugged it for warmth. The cops showed up. I tried to hug one of them, in distress and not thinking. "What are you doing?" He said, pushing me away. I stumbled back, sobbing again.
Joshua and Travis finally arrived in Travis's big red truck. I had never been happier to see anyone. I thought Joshua might be upset, I thought everyone would be upset, but he merely hugged me and rubbed my hair comfortingly, doing his best to make me feel better. I collapsed in his and Travis's arms and sobbed uncontrollably, hiccuping and blubbering as they carried me to the back seat and finished grabbing what they could of my belongings. A tow truck came and took my truck away. The policeman I had tried to hug gave me a ticket. I guess he didn't like hugs. As we drove home, Joshua held me in the backseat until I had sobbed literally every tear that was physically possible. I mumbled random phrases. My head felt like it was in a fuzz. Despite my bitching about no insurance, the boys took me to the hospital to have me checked out, where I got ahold of my mom. They ran X-Rays on me and I was, miraculously, cleared for anything wrong with me.

The only thing I had on my arm was a red scratch from the airbag, and a deep slice on my index finger, which is still healing and bright red, but healing nicely nonetheless.
Miraculously, I had survived the second near-death experience I'd ever had (the first being my Diagnosis). I guess maybe God wants me around. The boys took me home and I was ordered into the shower, and banned from sorting through my stuff, which had been jammed into boxes, bins and bags everywhere. Thick shards of blue tinted glass fell out of nearly everything I picked up. Closing my eyes as I washed my hair, the images came into my head again... the guard rail... tumbling around... I snapped them open.

Go away, I whispered. "Go away".

They won't go away. Not for a long time. But as a friend told me, the emotions and memories will ease in time, eventually.  I hope so. I really hope so, because sometimes I drive my car now and I'll hit a pothole and get startled, or someone will be driving and hit a curb and I'll get shooken up. Sometimes I'll dream of it. Sometimes I'll close my eyes and see tumbling and hear glass again. I'll be cooking and imagine the awful wrecked car smell again. I'll see a rainy day and think of December the 8th. I'll close my eyes, and the familiar guardrail looms. Driving down 96, I always see the dent in it now. The masochistic part of me looks for it every time. I've gotten a lot of scars, and most of them weren't physical. But what can I do but move on and try to forget? It is, as one of my favorite quotes in the Great Gatsby, like this:

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” 

Savannah Trip Part 3 - Finis

Sunday. Our last day in Savannah.

Slept in, crept down for breakfast again, did not nearly set the toaster on fire or knock down the serving spoons (but I sheepishly avoided the glares of the lady worker in charge of the continental breakfast), and got ready for the day before Josh and I checked out at 11. Truck packed, we piled back into our seats and ventured into the heart of the city one final time. It was a little heartbreaking, really!

I didn't want to leave.

"So, sweetheart, where are we going?" Josh asked. My head swirled with ideas, and finally one surfaced - "Forsyth Park!" I tweeted back. I was still a little peeved that the lady on the haunted tours had told us that Forsyth Park was where all the Yellow Fever victims were buried, but I still wanted to see the gorgeous stretch of land and felt our Savannah trip to be truly incomplete without it. We arrived, found a super-convenient parking spot, and began our walk hand in hand. The park was indeed beautiful - old oaks canopied the walkways and the park was green, lush and gorgeously landscaped. It was a picturesque day, too - Josh and I took pictures in front of the statues and the big white fountain, explored the amphitheater and a little walled garden, and - my favorite - walked the perimeter of the park so that we could get a glimpse of all of the old, incredible, lovely houses. We gazed at them all longingly, and though I was coming down with an unfortunate head cold at this point and losing my voice, it seemed that I spent every last precious word I could speak on how beautiful each and every house was.

"Baby, oh, look at that one!"
"Oh, isn't it amazing?"
"We could buy that one... it's for sale..."
"Let's own a bed and breakfast in Savannah!"
"That... is the prettiest house I have ever seen."
"Look! Their address says 13 1/2!"

Josh said I was cute.
After Forsyth we crawled back into the car for one last adventure. Josh is really into the card game Magic, and we had seen a card shop called Savannah Comics on Friday that he felt like checking out. So after driving around and getting lost once, we found the tiny shop off Liberty Street, parked (I'd like to take the time to gloat that we did not spend a penny on parking this entire trip - HUGE accomplishment) and walked to the store. When we got there, a young man was sitting on a bench under the store awning. "It's still closed," he said. "But it should be open at one. Sometimes he's late getting here." I didn't pay much attention to the young man, and to bide time we decided to get lunch at a bustling restaurant called J. Christophers. It really seemed like the place to be! It was packed. Josh and I got seating at the front, and what I could taste of my food was good (it's dreadfully hard to taste with a stuffy nose). Blood sugar was OK last I'd checked an hour ago, I'd had an apple then and bolused and so I didn't check for lunch and bolused again. When we'd finished and paid we walked back towards the card store and found it open. We walked inside, looked around, and looked at the back, but didn't see any Magic cards; just comic books mostly. I finally saw some up front and pointed them at to Josh, all the while feeling funny.

Can't be, I thought. Just ate.
But I knew it - I noticed that I was getting better and  better at sensing my body. Both lows and, recently, highs. Like, scary good. It was like a super power. And my meter confirmed it - I was dropping at 60, and madly scolded myself under my breath for not checking at lunch and for bolusing without checking while I was low!
I sighed, frustrated, and walked to the front with Josh. Finding a chair, I melted down into it, fishing a granola bar out of my bag.

"You look so excited to be here," a familiar voice said to me. I looked up to see the face of the young man that had been on the bench earlier, a small grin on his face. He was, apparently, an employee, and he was facing me from the right. I said, my voice monotone due to my being used to explaining my Diabetes to people that didn't know, or didn't care, or both; "I have low blood sugar. I'm Diabetic."

And what happened next completely shocked me. The man turned and I caught a glimpse of his left side. My mouth gaped open, because out of his pants pocket a thin, transparent tube curled and snaked up under his shirt.

"Me too." he said softly. 

I was in awe. I'd never even met another Type 1 Diabetic in the "real world" before. At the endo, yeah, but never at school, or at work, or anywhere... and yet in this tiny card shop in the middle of a big city, that we had walked into by chance, here was a man who knew each and every up and down about what I went through and could name my troubles to the tee. I gazed at him, our eyes locked in understanding before we launched into conversation about what life was like with a pump, or insurance situations, stupid things people said to us, our pet peeves about Diabetes, diagnosis date, number of times in DKA, type of insulin used, etc. 

"Baby! Look! He's Diabetic too," I said, turning to Josh, even happier than I had been back in the candy store. 

"He is too," he man motioned to the man at the counter. "Type 2. Insulin Dependent," the man at the counter said. 

Josh was so happy for me. We talked about the pump for at least a solid 30 minutes, and I truly enjoyed listening to what the young man (he was only a few years older than me) had to say about the pump, as I had never seen one in person and never talked with someone in real life about what it was like. I have to say, skeptical as I am about getting a pump, he definitely gave me a lot to think about. And more than that, I just truly felt as though this Diabetic man was a gift from god himself; one of the best things about this entire trip, in fact, and that's saying a lot. 

Finally it was time to go, and we bid each other goodbye. It struck me as we were leaving the shop that I didn't even know this man's name, but it didn't matter to me and I don't think it mattered to him either. Names or no, we were kindred spirits, and this man gave me a powerful reminder that in my struggle I am never, ever alone. That God uplifts and strengthens us and never gives us more than we can handle. And I was so overcome by happiness again I felt as though I could cry tears of joy. 

"It made me so happy to see how happy meeting him made you," Joshua said, and I smiled at him. "And you?" I asked him. "Are you happy? Did you have a good time on vacation?"

Josh smiled back. "The best," he said. 

We spent the rest of the day braving I-16, and visiting friends in Statesboro. At around 10 PM as we left Statesboro, Joshua kindly drove the whole way back as I dozed on his lap, my cold having gotten the best of me at that point and totally knocking me out. But even the cold couldn't put a damper on my happiness, because I had visited Savannah with the man I love more than anything in the world, swam in the ocean, eaten the best piece of candy I'd ever had, gotten my fill of all the pretty sights my senses could hold, and met a person who understands everything I'm going through.

Who knows? Maybe he'll even read this someday. If not, thank you, either way. I'm so glad I met you, because you lifted a weight off my shoulders that I don't even think I'd realized I had. The weight of having never met someone with my illness, of feeling alone - that feeling isn't completely gone,  but thanks to you, I don't feel so alone at all, not anymore. 

"I Need Some Sugar! Do You Have Any Sugar?"

It was an all-weekend trip for work to Columbus, where I had three jobs lined up on Friday and Saturday. I'd visited Ft. Benning (the site of my first job) and visited my friend Crystal from Wesleyan afterwards. I stayed the night with Crystal Friday, having a great time with her and her family, being treated to Teriyaki Salad, doing facials, and watching movies that we actually got from a real-life Blockbuster (they still exist!) In the morning, we slept in and then had a delicious breakfast before I got ready for work. All in all, I'd had a fantastic time. It was so nice to get to see someone from school over the summer. I actually did miss Wesleyan a lot more than I thought I would! I can't wait to start back in the fall.

After leaving Crystal's and on my way to my first Saturday job, Kelle, who lives in Auburn - only about 30 mins. away from Columbus - called. We'd talked about me going to visit her but had failed to really make any plans. I answered the phone. "Hey! Did you say you were coming today or tomorrow?" Kelle's familiar voice asked. I hadn't planned yet on coming either... but jumped at the opportunity! It wasn't everyday that I got to see my best friend, who had moved from Florida to a little town in North Carolina when we were in freshman year of High School. The last time I had seen Kelle was last year, during my infamous sleepover when I got diagnosed with Diabetes (mentioned here as one of my friends). I'd been laying in a heap on the floor back then, so it hadn't the most pleasant of goodbyes. Kelle and I made plans over the phone. "But, I won't be there until about 5 or 5:30," I told her. "That's about 4:30 here", she replied. I hadn't even known I'd be switching time zones! I thought it cool that I'd gain back an extra hour of my day.

I finished both of my parties, tired and exhausted but ready to go see Kelle. I plugged in her address into the GPS and set off through Columbus. I'd been through downtown once before but never realized how close I was to Alabama (it had been dark at the time). Now I crossed over a bridge with a beautiful view of the river below and was greeted by a sign that welcomed me to Phenix City, Alabama.

I drove on towards Highway 280 West, and stopped at a gas station to refill, change out of my Cinderella dress, and get a Diet Root Beer. Gas was $3.18, which seemed like a good deal to me. It was a while before I reached 85 and began to travel past Opelika and reach Auburn. Gas here was as low as $3.06! I felt robbed! I got off the exit, excited to reach my destination. I reached the correct apartments and gave Kelle a call to see where I should park. I found visitor parking and that's where my truck came to rest. I took a moment to test, having not had time to eat anything at all today in between my parties. 62, and I knew I'd fall fast if I didn't get anything to eat soon. But I got out of the car, grabbing my purse, and heard that oh-so familiar voice. "Did you get taller again?" My beautiful friend strode over, wearing a strapless dress and boots. I hugged her elatedly. "Everyone always says that, but I don't think so!" I told her. (It was true, everyone always did think I was taller when they hadn't seen me for a while, but my actual height had yet to prove this to be true).

We walked up a flight of stairs to the second-floor landing and entered her apartment. Kelle's fiance, Jeff, was there (I couldn't even remember the last time I'd seen Jeff, who had gone to school with me back in Freshman year at Smith Prep). Kelle, who lived in North Carolina at the time, had come down to visit me and I'd thought that Jeff would make good company for us as we hung out at the mall. Matchmaking win.

Jeff and his roommate went off to watch the UFC fight at Buffalo Wild Wings, so after I got some food from Kelle to stave off my low, Kelle and I decided to do some shopping for dinner at Publix. While it had been 5:30 when I had left for Auburn, it was about 5:20 now that I was actually here. Time traveling! We reached the Publix, which was decorated in the front entryway with Auburn paintings. I could tell that the town had a lot of team spirit! We browsed through all of the aisles, everyone stopping to say hello to Kelle, who worked there. We got some vegetables, meat, and decided on a yummy looking pair of steaks for $10, potatoes, and grilled zucchini and squash for dinner. We checked out and Kelle took me driving through Auburn to see the sights. It was gorgeous! Auburn was like a city. There was just so much of... everything! Tiger pawprints sat right in the middle of the road, painted in orange, and led us to campus. I saw the dorms, the huge stadium, and all of the beautiful brick architecture. With the exception that Auburn dwarfed my little school, the brick buildings made me reminisce of Wesleyan's own rich history and beautiful buildings.

We reached the apartments again and both took in as many groceries as we could hold so as to not have to make a second trip. We put things away, then took out all of the veggies and sliced them up, putting them on a frying pan to grill with seasoning. We put the potatoes on a low boil, and when we finished the vegetables went down to the pool to grill our steaks. It was chilly after the rain - much colder than I'd anticipated - and I huddled next to the grill fire for warmth. We made it back to the apartment, finished all of the other food, and sat down to eat on the sofa in front of Aladdin, which was playing on the TV. It was a delicious dinner, and I was ravenous. I didn't bolus a bit, and by the time I fell asleep that night, I felt fine but had forgotten to check my blood sugar before bed.

The next morning I woke up to mom calling me at 9:15 (eastern time). It was 8:15 here. I answered the phone groggily. "Mom, it's 8:15 here!" "Oh! Sorry," she told me. "I just wanted to call and make sure you made it all right. And tell Kelle to call her mom, she's worried about the shootings last night." Shootings? "I'll tell her," I told mom. "We're all fine. Love you. Bye!" Kelle rolled over. "Call your mom", I said. "Apparently there were two shootings here last night!" We sat in the bed, talking, after Jeff had filled us in from the other room about what had happened. Two football players and one other person had been shot and killed - quite close to the apartment complexes we were at, actually. It had made National News. Kelle and I continued to talk through the morning, but soon the familiar shaky feeling came over me and I pushed it away like a bad thought.

After a time it had become hard to ignore, though, and I sat up quickly. "I really need to check my blood sugar," I said, walking into the kitchen where my meter was. 10 seconds later, I had my result: a solemn 50 staring at me from the screen. "Do you have any sugar?" I yelled to Jeff and Kelle. "I really need some. Any that you have." Kelle looked at me confusedly. "Sugar?" She asked. Jeff came out into the kitchen, the same puzzled look on his face. "Umm..." He opened the pantry door and rummaged around for a moment. A few seconds later he emerged, holding a white bag in his hands. It was a bag of sugar! "You actually eat straight sugar?" I stared between him and Kelle for a second and laughed. "No! Of course not!" I laughed a second time. I was unused to being around people who didn't know my Diabetic habits. Jeff seemed relieved as he put the sugar back into the pantry. I went on to explain, "Saying "sugar" is just out of habit for me. I really just mean anything with carbs - just check the back of nutrition labels. Something over 15 grams of carbs is good for a low." Jeff ended up grabbing some Italian Ice out of the fridge for me - I took it back to Kelle's room and ate it. It was much more delicious than eating sugar! Soon enough, I felt much better.

We spent the whole day shopping at the boutiques in downtown Auburn. They were adorable! Handmade jewelry, designer dresses, local artists, and all of the Auburn paraphernalia you could possibly imagine... I was in love. The sights and smells were new and unique to me. Kelle and I sat in one shop for at least an hour, trying to decide which jewelry we liked the best. I finally decided on a pair of pretty blue feather earrings - I'd always wanted some - and some pretty blue and green earrings with gold dreamcatcher feathers hanging on the bottom.


It was fantastic! I had such a good time I could hardly believe it. It seemed like it had been ages since I had gone shopping with a friend. Not just to find stuff to buy, but to have an experience - bonding and just simply having girl time together with a childhood best friend. My heart was happy. It began pouring as we headed to a shopping center called Tiger Town to browse, so we made our way back through the downpour in the car carefully. We were starved! Kelle and I (Kelle cooked - mostly I sat and watched) browned some meat in a pan and cooked up a fajita salad. I felt like my friends were really treating me this weekend to low-carb meals! The salad was delicious. We sat and talked a while longer, and I had a cup of coffee before my long two-hour trip back to Forsyth. Kelle soon had to leave for work, and as she got ready in her Publix Uniform I did a quick run-through to make sure I had all of my stuff.

5:15 PM (central time). It was time to leave. We walked down to the parking lot, where our vehicles were parked next to each other. The sun had begun to come out. Gosh, I was bad at goodbyes. We stared at each other, two girls who had known each other for years. I hadn't seen Kelle in over a year, but in between the time that had elapsed from then and now, it felt like not a single thing had changed. Our lives had changed, but not us. We had so much history together that I began to believe that we'd probably always be best friends. We gave each other long hugs, and I smiled at Kelle. "See you soon," I said, shutting the door to the truck.








The time had passed too quickly, but the memories that the last weekend had given me would last a lifetime.

The Big Deal

I am sure that you will see a lot of 9/11 posts today. Mine is one of them. Everyone has their own unique perspective, their take on the experiences that change them.

10 years ago, I was sitting in Mrs. Taylor's 3rd grade class at my second row desk. I was diligently working on a spelling assignment, occupied with getting it done. A student suddenly appeared in the doorway from the other classroom. "Turn on the TV," she said. "An airplane just hit the twin towers!" 

Everyone around me was in shock. The TV was turned on and we watched with our little eyes as a building far away billowed smoke out from its side. But I did not understand. I did not know what the World Trade Center was, or where it was, or how somebody could have managed to run their airplane into its side. I had never heard of terrorists, or Islamic extremists, or Al Qaeda. I did not know that there were people in the world today that would kill for the sake of their religion. I was young, I was sheltered, I was innocent and unknowing of the world that lied beyond my own small and protected one. 

And I said, 

"What's the big deal?" 

Because, back then, I did not know.

Today I remember, and I mourn with the rest. I stand at the flagpole with my hand across my heart, tears in my eyes as I think of all the fragile lives shattered by the events of that day. My heart feels for them, bleeds for them, cries for them. I feel for their pain and suffering and count myself one among the many that will never forget. It has been 10 years - 10 long years for the American citizens, for our soldiers, for America. 10 long years of news reports of violence, bombings, and death mixed, with always, fear. It has been 10 long years for any person to grow up in.

But back then, I did not know. I did not understand what had happened, or why, or how it would affect the world throughout the next decade. Now I remember that day, and all that it meant for our country. But also I remember that little girl 10 years ago, and sometimes, I wish that I could have protected her. That she never had to grow up and learn of all the terrible things that happen in the world, or live amidst a distant yet ever-present war. But she did, and 9/11 changed her life, just as it changed everyone's. Our lives will never be the same. All of us, with our own unique stories of what happened that day and how it impacted our lives, will never forget. 

"She Took the Loaded Questions Out of Her Head..."

Alright... I've been seriously slacking on Blogging lately. I promise I'll pick it back up once things get settled down - moving is just a short week and a half away, and there's so much to do.

This past week has been one of the best I've ever had!

Once I survived the initial grueling Graduation Practice, things took off smoothly from there.
Rainy Wednesday I cleaned for the party and went over to Smith Prep (my old school) to help paint the walls. It was fun to get messy and share some conversations with both new and old friends. I experienced a minor lapse in judgement when I forgot to pack a snack in case of any mid-afternoon hypos, and ended up having to sit down whilst in the middle of painting with a shiny BG of 61 staring out of the glucometer screen at me. A little frantic that it was going to drop lower and I'd have no way of driving myself home, I was happy to discover that there were boxes of pizza in the adjacent room, and all was well from there. (Lesson learned: I will not forget to bring my snacks ever ever again.) My grandmother came that evening with a suitcase full of dresses to pass down to me - and I went to bed early to be up for graduation in the morning.

I woke up at 5:30am to get showered and prettied up for graduation, wearing an all-white dress to go under my all-white graduation gown. I was elated as I checked to make sure I had the graduation tickets, glucometer, insulin, and graduation cap. On the way we stopped by Starbucks. I was proud of myself - I resisted from getting any carb-laden frappuchinos and settled for a passion fruit iced tea instead. The lady at the register told me "Congratulations" and, with a smile, gave me my tea for free! Several other people in the store smiled and told me congratulations, and I was so excited as I walked out of the store, carefully sipping my drink so as to spill none on my clean gown.

We arrived at the UCF arena and I rushed to the gymnasium where my "class" was lined up on the bleachers, in order, to wait for commencement. I was glad I hadn't brought my cell phone as the teachers had taken to patting students down in order to make sure they had no electronics on them. I wrestled my tiny self through the crowd to the front of the line in order to grab my name card and found my correct seat, then kicked off my shoes and sat down to wait. The teachers all laughed at my bare feet. I had a fun time talking with the other nervous, excited Seniors around me as we spent 1.5 hours trying to occupy ourselves until we could finally march on stage. "Do you think it's too late to apply for Bright Futures? I think the deadline is today..." the guy next to me asked. "Ohmygoodness! I'm so excited!" The girl beside me gushed. Finally, after and eternally long wait, we lined up. Hearts fluttering, we walked through the  back halls of the arena until we finally came to the entrance into the arena. We walked out onto the bright floor, cameras flashing and parents cheering. I was all smiles. It suddenly dawned on me that, although the graduation practices had been long, seemingly pointless and boring as all get out, ultimately, I was glad to have made the choice to go through with it. It was all worth it in the end when, heart beating fast, butterflies in my stomach, I heard my name called: "Lacy Elizabeth Ball, Summa Cum Laude", and walked across the stage to receive my diploma. That moment was one of the proudest moments in my life. After 13 years of hard work, I had finally reached the finish line, and the reward was wonderful indeed.

Friday was the day of my party. Thursday I had worked hard after graduation to make sure everything was ready - that way I didn't have to stress. I had made cookies, sugar-free cake, went shopping for food with my mother and grandmother, and set up the tents, tables, and moonwalk in the backyard. The house was cleaned  and all ready for visitors. The party was fantastic. I got to see friends from as far back as Kindergarten and all of my high school friends. We played Loaded Questions and talked and jousted and ate good food. Memorable Quote from the party: "She took the loaded questions out of her head!" We even got to witness Mr. Phillips, our old teacher, battle Blake to a jousting match. It was terrifying and exhilarating :)

Saturday I went to Rock Springs with my two friends, Emma and Erica. The water was so cold and the initial shock of jumping in made you question whether or not the swim was worth it, but 5 minutes in the water and it was so hot outside that it soon began to feel like bath water. And it was so beautiful! I always love taking a trip to Rock Springs. It's right down the street from me, so I wonder why I never go more. 

That evening I went out to eat with my brother, sister-in-law, and Dad. Sunday we went out to breakfast at Mimi's and did a little more college shopping at Bed Bath and Beyond. I can't believe I'm moving in a week and a half! It was, all in all, a wonderful weekend, and I'll remember it for the rest of my life.

Oh... and my blood sugars behaved wonderfully all weekend. :)

The Beginning.

Warning: This post is a very detail-heavy description of my going into diabetic ketoacidosis (then unbeknown to me.) I'm just letting you know so that you can read at your own discretion.


---


This is the beginning of my new life.

My life with Type 1 Diabetes.
And I hate it.

Last Friday was prom. It was a wonderful night. I'd never felt so beautiful. I had a gorgeous red mermaid dress, my hair was curled, I did my makeup all nice, and I just felt all around lovely. We got there and it was so nice to see everyone. The Seniors went to Macaroni Grill, we took tons of pictures, laughed and smiled and the girls exclaimed how beautiful everyone was. We got to prom at the beautiful Longwood Community Center. But something felt different this year. I'd get up to dance, but... I just... wasn't feeling it. I'd go through the motions, have fun, move around, but my mind and my body seemed like two disconnected entities. And I just felt like I lacked the energy to do much of anything. It was so strange. I hate to go to dances and just sit. But I must have ended up sitting for the better half of the dance. The food looked so great; cookies, cheesecake, ice cream, fruit, punch. I would love to eat it now. But I found I had no appetite. No desire to eat, no desire to dance. And I was so thirsty... I must have downed about 10 bottles of water, and that's not an exaggeration.

I got back to my friend, Kaitlin's house afterwards, and didn't even have the energy to unpin my hair or take off my makeup. I felt ill but figured I'd be fine in the morning, if I just got some sleep. A few glasses of water later I collapsed into bed and was out like a lamp.

The next morning I woke up feeling the same; ill. But even worse so. I got up and nursed some water, then sat on the couch and just... well, sat. Staring out the window, breathing slowly, deeply. Sure I'd feel better later. I had some toast and some orange juice and convinced myself that I felt okay, so I left Kaitlin's for my own house. I had to get ready for work. I got dressed, got in the car. I was late. I felt ill again. Weak. And thirsty. Why was I so thirsty? I tried to drink water but my mouthy felt furry and fruity. Water was gross. I drank some Ginger Ale, but though it wasn't as bad as the water it did little to quench my thirst. My nerves were frazzled. I got to work and spent 2 hours face painting kids, sweating and shaking. At least I had a chair to sit in. Someone brought me water and I tried to drink it again, but that fruity taste wouldn't go away, and it felt rough on my tongue, like the equivalent of liquid sandpaper.

Then I went home, got changed, and went to go see my best friends whom I hadn't seen in years. It was supposed to be a happy day; a wonderful reunion between us. I was still feeling strange, ill, but I had an appetite at least. I was thinking some protein or something nice and solid would be good. Like a chicken sandwich. We had barbecue chicken pizza for dinner instead - not exactly my ideal choice considering the state I felt in. The sweetness made me feel a little more sickly, but I ate it. I felt better for a while, the illness alleviated. Water still felt a bit funny, but I just ignored my body and had a good time with friends. 


Then later we had these giant eclairs; yum! But suddenly, the feeling came back again. The illness. The more I ate, the worse I felt. I drank more water. It wouldn't do. Felt even funnier. I was so thirsty. Cheese. Cheese was good. And juice. That might help. I drank about half a carton of orange juice. I fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up and I just knew I wasn't feeling well. You know what I'm talking about. The feeling you get when you wake up on a morning you're sick, and you're body is telling your mind, "Oh boy, you're really in for it today."


Yeah.


I knew that if I got up, one of two things was going to happen. a.) I was going to feel like I had to puke and most likely end up puking some time that morning. b.) I was going to puke my guts out immediately. I groaned inwardly. This was such an inopportune time to be sick.


My friends got up and made waffles which sounded fantastic. They tried to get me up but I pretended to still be sleepy, while in reality I just felt sick to my stomach. I stalled getting up for as long as possible, but at my friends' urging I did, slowly and painfully, emerge from my sleeping bag. 


I stumbled to the kitchen, poured some more orange juice, and a hot, delicious looking waffle was set in front of me.


I did not want that waffle.

Something wasn't right.

I got up slowly, then quickened my steps.

Right to the bathroom, where I threw up, over and over again.

I sat on Taylor, my friend's, floor. It was all I could do. She brought me club soda (disgusting) and I fell asleep with a pink snuggie over me.


Kelle had to leave to go back to North Carolina. I felt so bad I couldn't give her a better send off except for hugging her weakly and telling her I was so glad to see her, and apologizing for being sick. If apologizing for being sick sounds strange, you should know that I have always apologized a lot, for everything, even if an apology isn't necessarily due.

I woke up after napping on the floor, hoping to find some respite from the sick. Taylor was leaving, which meant I had to go to. I dragged myself to the bathroom for a shower, then got out and laid on the bathroom floor. So weak, so sick. I felt pathetic. Worthless. Helpless. 


When I drove home, I stopped at 7-11 to get drinks because I felt terrible. I stumbled into the store, grabbing a coke and a lemonade, not sure which would help, if either. I took my drinks to the front counter. "How are you?" The cashier asked. "Terrible," I said, handing her the money, grabbing my change, and running outside. I literally ran - and threw up, at least ten times, into the bushes next to my truck in the 7-11 parking lot.


A group of people passed me squatting on the sidewalk and I'm pretty sure they thought I was drunk. 

That experience was one of the most undignified moments of my life.

Through some miracle, I managed to make it home without killing myself.
I don't think I'll ever truly know how I managed to do it, either. God was really watching out for me that day.
I spent the rest of the day sick at home alone.
I lied on my bed, downing the coke, the lemonade was gross so I tossed it.
4 pm. Mom texted me angrily about not doing the dishes.
Euuuggghh. I heaved into the trashcan.
I had no strength to reply and defend my case, as to why the dishes had not been done.

I spent the whole day in bed and just hoped I would be better the next day. I had had the stomach flu two weeks ago and I honestly just thought that this must have been a relapse of it. I never for a second thought that anything else was wrong.
I never even had stopped to consider the two weeks' worth of random bouts of nausea throughout the day, the insane thirst, the having to pee literally 5 times an hour, it seemed. I didn't think about how strange it was that I got random stomach cramps, fell asleep in the middle of the day for no reason at all, that my legs kept collapsing in on me when I tried to go running on the track in the mornings, that I felt completely exhausted at even the slightest bodily exertion. That even carrying my party supplies, my face paint and games, into work was a difficult effort.
That I had lost so much weight that my bones were sticking out in all the wrong places.

It sounds stupid now, but I didn't stop to think of any of that.
Diabetes is not what you expect to grow up and find out that you have

My mother has always done a good job of supporting me and her through a brilliant work ethic and managing of finances. But we've never had a lot of spare money, not anymore, at least. We didn't go to the Doctor's, we didn't see the Dentist, we don't have healthcare. All of those things were luxuries we couldn't really afford and even if we made room for them in the budget, neither of us really felt that we needed to. We were fine, we were healthy. If we got sick we waited it out. We always got better. Hell, the last time I had been to the Doctor was when I was 8 years old. It might have even been longer.
So I figured this was the same. Just wait it out.
Like I had always done.

But the next day, I was still sick.
And not even slightly better, like you often are the second day.
Worse. Much worse.


I crawled to the kitchen in the early morning hours, convinced that the one panacea that I needed, immediately, that very second, was:
1.) Crushed ice
2.) A crushed ice Gatorade Slurpee.


I crawled on my hands and knees to get everything I needed to make it, then lost all strength by the time I got to the freezer. I threw up in the kitchen trash can and started crying. I must have woken mom up because I made it back to my room somehow. 

The whole day I couldn't eat, no fluids seemed to help. I thew it all up. Even the Gatorade. I kept vomiting, even when I was sure that there was no possible way that there was anything else left to puke - I through up over 20 times. So many times that the acid burned my mouth and throat so I could hardly speak without terrible pain. 


I texted my mom for a coke slurpie and then fell into a vomit-induced stupor, trying to sleep, drink, throw up, stumble to the bathroom, throw up, get drinks. I got my coke slurpie, my little piece of heaven, and managed to drink the whole thing. Then I began to get terrible stomach pain. I stumbled to my mother's room with my trash can. I was home alone. I couldn't find any medicine anywhere, I had no strength. I grabbed some Nyquil and took some of that; if I couldn't relieve the pain, at least perhaps I could sleep. I went back to my bed to await peaceful slumber.


But it didn't work. Because by then my stomach hurt so bad I couldn't stand it. I laid on my bed, literally begging God to make the terrible pain stop. I don't know what going through labor feels like, but if it's anything like I felt, I am in no hurry to have children. I actually remember convincing myself that people stopped by my bedside. I told them to go get me medicine that would make me feel better. Part of me knew I was imagining it, but scarily, another part of me had literally convinced myself that my neighbors had stopped by and they would shortly be returning with Maalox. 


I remember stumbling to my mom's room for some reason, but then I couldn't return to my bed. I sat there on the carpet. I remember being picked up and carried to my bed again. My legs started turning blue. I was bruising. Why was I bruising? Was this the flu? i had never had a flu like this. The stomach pain had worsened. The pain of it crushed me. Tears poured down my face. My mom had returned and I cried and cried and begged her and asked her when it would stop.

And then I remember very little.

I remember being picked up and put in the car. The world was spinning. A glimpse of sunlight, of green tree leaves, of a blue and cloud-speckled sky. We pulled out of the driveway and that's all I remember. Everything was black after that, and I must have lost consciousness. I have never lost consciousness before that day. I think I might remember making it to the CentraCare, but I simply don't know. I had strange hallucinations, dreams, memories, whatever you want to call them. I was on stretchers and there were doctors and everything was a mess, oh, everything was so tangled and messed up and nothing would ever be fixed. No one could fix this. It was impossible. What was this? That's what I actually remember thinking during that time. That something with me was so wrong that it could never be fixed.

And then there was black, then lights, and then an ambulance. I remember the dark night and a paramedic talking to me telling me I am at the hospital. I think I talked but I don't know. She asked me questions that I don't remember answering. She put an oxygen mask on my face.

And then I woke up.
Emergency Room, the sound of carts rolling through the hallways, multiple IV's hooked to my arms.
My weight, now only 99lbs, and the words "Diabetic ketoacidosis", then a foreign term to me, written on the whiteboard beside the bed.

Inches from death only hours before, with blood sugars over 900.
I had woken up, and I was alive.

Except that I had woken up into the wrong life.