When you opened your eyes that cool, grey morning, flutters of excitement filled your belly. Today was show and tell.
Today was a good day.
For days you’d been thinking non-stop about what to bring. You knew you didn’t want to show off your latest Cabbage Patch Kid, and you knew you didn’t want to bring your Barbie, despite her new, totally awesome, spiked, toothpaste-blue hairstyle. Nope. Neither of those would do. You crawled under your bed, rifled through the mounds of dirty and clean clothes, and the secretly stashed mouldy lunches until your hands came upon the two squares of cool tin. You curved your tiny fingers over the top of the boxes and pulled. And there they were, your most prized possessions. Two boxes full of rocks. Shiny green rocks, yellow rocks, purple and blue rocks. Big rocks, small rocks, sharp rocks, and silky smooth rocks. Rocks with ridges, rocks with points, rocks with bumps. Rocks that were prettier than the shiniest baubles in your mama’s jewelry box. You caressed your fingers lovingly over a sparkling green one with maroon coloured edges. Perfect.
Many of your rocks, collected by your great grandparents, came from far away beds of rocks such as these.
You grabbed your knapsack. Pulled out today’s lunch and threw it under your bed with the others. You stuffed the tins inside and ran out the door, not even waiting for Big Brother, to go catch the bus.
The rain showered you with sprinkles, but it wasn’t hard enough to wash away your smile. The pack was heavy, so heavy you could feel yourself being pulled backwards, and yet still you managed a bounce in your step. You adjusted it every few seconds, even tried easing the heft off your shoulders by holding the bottom of the pack up with your hands. Finally at the bus stop, with your small lungs huffing and puffing, you gently placed it down by your feet and waited.
Today was a good day.
By the time you got to school, the rain was coming down heavy, the wind blowing every which direction. Your teacher hadn’t yet arrived. Your brother’s teacher with the same last name came to supervise. You liked her. You were tired. The excitement of the morning was taking its toll. You placed your head into the crook of your arms and rested them on your desk. You would shut your eyes for just a few moments.
When you opened your eyes, you were in a room you’d never been before. You were lying on a bed, a blanket over you. Big Brother was there, taking on a responsibility far beyond his years, rubbing your back, talking softly to you, calming you in a way only a brother could do. You didn’t know there had been tears. You didn’t know there had been fights with sugar gels. You didn’t know your lips had pursed stubbornly together. You didn’t know there had been cries for Big Brother. You closed your eyes again.
When you opened them this time, the room was gone, Big Brother was gone. You were in a van, a familiar van. The woman unhooking you from the seat belt was a friendly face you knew and loved. But still, you were scared. Your head was fuzzy. It felt as though you were in a dream. You wanted to wake up. You wanted your moms. You closed your eyes again.
When you opened them, your moms was there. So was your doctor. Concern on her face. Calm on his.
You were 9 years old. You’d known about your diabetes just a few months. The low was a first for you, a first for your moms. The rocks were not a good idea.
Today was not a good day.
* This is my third installment of Diabetes Blog Week with the topic Memorable Diabetes Day.*
TODAY’S RUN (the first in a week!!!)
- 7:30 a.m. BG before: 10.0
- Carbs: none (had breakfast an hour earlier)
- Temp. basal: none
- Distance: 5 km
- Average pace: 5:35 min/km
- Time: 27:57
- 8:30 a.m. BG after: 5.4
This post pulled at my heart strings. Beautifully written. Thank you for sharing!
Thanks for writing that.
You don’t very often open the doors to your secret self.
But I always believed you were a courageous soul 🙂
Wow… what a vivid memory! I love the second-person writing angle…
Wow. I can’t even describe how amazing this is..
Reblogged this on Can I Really Do This? and commented:
This is a truly amazing post.
I loved that!!!!! Amazing writing style. I was laughing and scared for you at the same time. I can’t imagine being young when diagnosed and not knowing what a hypo was….Keep it up!