Diabetes: Crash and Burn (My Story)

Now that I have given you the facts, let me tell you my story. (Fair warning: Some of this can get kind of graphic. Make sure you have the “stomach” for it.)

It was three years ago, the day before my 47th birthday. It was also my son Brady’s 20th birthday. I hadn’t been feeling good for a couple days. Sort of lethargic feeling. The week before, on Casey’s 22nd birthday, I had taken him to the emergency room after work, as it was too late to get him into the doctor or into urgent care. He had a viral infection. So, not feeling very well, I thought maybe I had the same. I had a big decision to make. Do I take the time to run to the doctor to check it out or not? On the upcoming weekend, Memorial Day, on Sunday I had our annual May (spring, a/k/a April-June) birthday party. I have it every year and it includes both sides of the family, Bob’s and mine. I was looking at approximately 60 people coming to the house. Plus, my sister Suzi and family were coming down from Minnesota and they were bringing their newborn baby, Tabitha, who would be about a month old. She was born a premie, though, and sensing I might have something I figured I had better go see a doctor to get an antibiotic of some sort or, Heaven help me, if I wouldn’t be able to go near or hold that baby. That was just the sort of thing that I didn’t want to go through!

So, in between jobs (at that time I worked for one attorney in downtown Madison from 7-9:45 a.m. and then drove 10 minutes to my full-time job which I began at 10:00 a.m.; my hours, etc., with both places have since changed to something more reasonable) . . . so between jobs I ran to urgent care. I explained to the nurse my symptoms, thirsty, lethargic, and maybe running a fever – not sure – because I just didn’t feel good. But, nurse, the bottom line is I have company coming this weekend, one being a premie, so I really need something to make me feel better so I can be on my way. She went through a list of other questions. Me: nope, nope, nope. Nurse: any frequent urination? Me: Well, yes, but that didn’t start until last night and yes, now that I come to think about it, I was up a few times in the middle of the night, which is unusual, but I think that is because I was drinking so much water. A fever will make you do that, right? She looked at me and said let’s do a quick urine and blood test. Okay, no problem, but then I really need to be on my way, as I have things I need to do and get back to work.

Blood drawn and peeing done, I sat in the exam room. Oh my gosh, I thought to myself, she asked me about frequent urination. Oh, Lord, they know my family history with the diabetes and now with this, they are going to go that route, I just know it, and don’t they understand that Casey had a viral infection last week and I probably got it. They are just going to spend more time than what I have right now on something that is not the problem. A few minutes later, the nurse and a doctor came in. Good, I thought. Me: Okay, so what type of a viral infection is it? Dr.: Nope, you don’t have a viral infection, you are diabetic.

It hit me sort of like an out of control train being derailed. Are you sure? I mean my son was sick. No, that has nothing to do with it. I thought for a moment. Yep, I, of all people, should have noticed the signs, but I was too busy or maybe was it more afraid, to recognize them.

Okay, what is the plan? We are going to set up an appointment for you to see an internal medicine doctor but we can’t get you in to see her until Friday at 4:00. Okay, I thought. I can do that. Today is Tuesday and I had already taken the day off to prepare for the party, but I can do that. It will just take a couple hours out of my day and I can try to get as much accomplished before then as I can.

Friday came and I went to see Dr. Grant. She put me on pills - Metformin. I ran to the pharmacy, got the prescription filled and popped the first one right away. Dr. Grant had said that I will start to feel a little better in about a day after starting the pills. Okay, it better hurry up because I have lots to do. The weather is seeming to get a little better and I have plants to plant, mulch to lie down, food to prepare, cleaning to do.

Friday night came and I didn’t feel good. I vomited once or twice. Saturday morning, more vomiting. Feeling worse, I asked the boys for help. I have stuff to get done, can you help? Sure. More vomiting. Then I asked Casey’s girlfriend at the time if she would drive the Durango and me around as I didn’t know if I had enough energy to drive. Bob: Why don’t you just call off the damn party if you aren’t feeling good. Me: Nope. I can make it through the weekend and then will rest up.

So, off Amber and I went with my itinerary of, first, to New Glarus, to pick up my cocoa bean mulch. Then, next we need to head the other direction to Dodgeville, to pick up the cake, groceries, and I want to get a kiddie pool for the little ones since it was supposed to be nice weather. On the way to New Glarus, (Me:) Amber can you pull over. I’m sorry but I have to vomit. Done and on our way again, we picked up the mulch. On the way to Dodgeville, twice, “Amber can you pull over. I need to vomit.” Then I had to have her come in and help me pick up the cake because it was a full sheet cake and, normally easy to do, I didn’t think I could carry it out. Cake in the SUV, off to the grocery store to pick up the last of the fresh groceries. In and out in record time and then, once again, because I was going to get sick. Me: Amber, please pull over right before we get to Wal-Mart. (More vomiting.) In and out of Wal-Mart carrying a large kiddie pool which we shoved into the Durango on top of the mulch. Okay, it’s getting late. We really need to head home. Heading back, more vomiting on the way home. Once home, the boys helped unload the Durango and I headed for the recliner in the kitchen. Boys, can you help me make some food if I start things. Yep, sure can. All three pitched in to make a huge batch of pasta salad and macaroni salad. While they cut, diced, grated, stirred and drained, (and frankly I am extremely proud of them for being so good about it), I instructed from the recliner trying to see if I could keep down some water.

Bob came in from the barn. Again, he vocalized, this is not normal, there is something wrong, why don’t you call off the damn party. Nope, it is tomorrow and I can make it through this. I’m stubborn when it comes to parties. I love to throw parties and nothing stands in my way when I am planning a party.

Okay, most all the food is done that I need to make. Thanks, kids. At midnight, I dragged myself upstairs and fell into bed, thinking that if I got some sleep I would feel better in the morning and could finish up the last of the stuff then. Shortly afterwards, I was up vomiting again and then back to bed. Two more times again, and crawled back into bed. Finally, at around 5:00 a.m., after vomiting once more, I lay on the bathroom floor. I didn’t have the strength to walk back to bed. I had to crawl. That is when Bob said, “This is it. You have to call off this party.” I finally admitted then, that yes, that I had to. I said I will call the doctor on call to see what they say. Bob got up and went downstairs.

Before I could get up to get the number to call the doctor on call, the phone rang. Who would be calling at this time of the morning? It has to be something of an emergency or bad. I answered the phone. It was my sister, Marci. Me: Hello. Marci: You’re not feeling well, I hear. Me: No, I’m not. Why do you ask me that? Marci: Because Bob just called me and if he is concerned enough to call me at five in the morning, something must be seriously wrong. Me: Yea, I’m not sure, but I’m about to call the doctor. Marci: Call me as soon as you talk to them. Me: I will. In the meantime, I think I have to call off the party today. Marci: Do ya think! I will call Cindy (Bob’s sister-in-law) and let her know so she can tell his side and I will let our family know. Me: Okay, thanks.

Once off the phone with Marci, I called the doctor on call. Still in bed, the doctor on call told me that, “yes, something is seriously wrong, and you should get to the emergency room right away. If you are not going by ambulance, make sure whoever takes you knows what to do because there is a good possibility you may pass out before you get there because you are either hypo- or hyperglycemic. Either way, I will alert the ER that you are coming in and what is going on.” Great! That means I don’t dare have the boys take me. Okay, Marci, you’re on. I called her back and asked can you take me. She said, yes, I have to get dressed and I will be there as soon as I can. After I explained what the doctor said, she was now nervous.

I got up and tried to get dressed in between vomiting. I crawled down the steps and sat in the recliner waiting for her to come pick me up. The boys helped me into her van and off we went with an empty ice cream pail in hand. Marci can be kind of squeamish about certain things; people getting sick and/or needles are a couple of them. The other thing is, I love my sister to death, but when she is driving and on a mission, she stares straight ahead and drives with a death grip on the steering wheel. This was one of those times. She was on a mission. She would only glance at me from time-to-time just to make sure I was still with it.

Me: Marci, pull over. Marci: Why? Me: I’m going to vomit. Marci: Can’t you use the pail? Me: No, because I might get it on the inside of your car. Just pull over and let me hang my head out the door. (More vomiting.) Okay, let’s go. A couple more times of pulling over and I have now fully reclined myself in a laying down position in the van. Thirty-five miles later and we are now in Madison heading up Park Street, just blocks away from Meriter Hospital. A detour.

Marci: Oh, great, now what. Me: Is there a sign or anything? Marci: Yes, it is a run/walk marathon of some sort. Me: Go down a couple blocks and see if there is anywhere to get through. Marci: Nothing. Me: Then find someone to ask, there must be someone directing traffic of some sort, and put your flashers on. Marci: There’s someone. (She stops and asks her if she can get through. They say no, but try up the block farther. Marci, swearing under her breath, backs up, turns around and goes to the next street). Marci: There are two cops on bikes. What do I tell them? Me: Tell them I am a diabetic and I am either hypoglycemic or hyperglycemic and I could very well pass out at any moment. Marci (to officers): I have my sister in the van and she is diabetic and the doctor told her to get to the hospital right away and she might pass out. Officers: Do you want us to call an ambulance? Me: No, we are 2-3 blocks from the hospital, just tell them we just need to get across the path of the marathon and then we will be okay.

Not able to see what is going on, and with Marci using her Vulcan grip on the steering wheel, all I can think of is we are only a couple blocks away and I feel like I am going to pass out. Then Marci starts to laugh. The officers have jumped on their bikes and are giving us a bike police escort to the hospital ER. Marci said she has never seen feet and pedals move so fast. She is going over 30 mph and they are getting away from her. Once to the ER entrance, they jump off their bikes, and one runs in to alert the ER that I am there. The other grabs a wheelchair and helps me out of the van and scoots me inside, only to be whisked immediately into a room. Madison’s Blue at their finest.

Laying there, trying to answer questions, I’m immediately hooked up to tons of machines. Blood is drawn, an IV is hooked up and Marci is looking kind of pale. The doctor says I need to have an EKG done immediately. After all the testing, etc., things finally start to calm down and I am beginning to feel better. The doctor comes in and says that my blood sugar count was around 600 and they are going to be admitting me into the cardiac ICU unit, as they were fearful that I might have a heart attack.

Marci, after being on the phone constantly since we arrived, now informs me that our family has decided that since there is so much food, and Suzi and family are down, that our family is going to gather at Marci’s to try to put a dent in it. Bob is on his way up and Marci is going to leave so she can get home to tend to the rest of the family soon to be gathering at her house for the party I was supposed to be hosting.

Bob gets to the ER and the nurse is ready to wheel me upstairs. Out of curiosity, Bob asked the nurse, if she had ever seen blood sugars that high (as when I came in). She said, yes, and much worse; even as high as over 1,000 which is mostly from diabetic homeless people, who can’t afford any medications, and end up in the ER when blood sugars get out of control. (Yep, this from a country who can afford to give tons of dollars to other countries, but can’t afford to take care of our people here!)

So, begins the week-long journey for me into my new world of diabetes. I spend two days in Cardiac ICU. Once they feel that I am out of the woods for any heart problems, I am transferred to a regular room. While I am in the Cardiac ICU, though, is where and when I begin to become “one” with my diabetes. In the few days prior to my crash and burn, I had come to terms with Diabetes and Me. Growing up with my dad having diabetic episodes (we called then “sweats”) I learned quick and hard what to look for and how to treat it. When I was young, there were many nights when my mom would awaken me to help her with my dad if his blood sugars had gone too low. When my dad had hurt his hand in a farm accident and could no longer push the syringes down when giving himself insulin injections, he would have my mom do it. If she wasn’t available, I would do it. I learned the ropes of diabetes at a young age. I had even said that if anyone in our family should get diabetes, at least I knew how to work with and treat it. Lesson No. One: Always watch what you say. But I did know how and I do know what is what. The only thing now, I had to learn it all for myself, and that was what I was going to do.

So, from Day One in the hospital, I had a notebook and I took notes of everything that happened. I would not let the nurses take my blood pressure, temperature, blood sugar reading, etc., without knowing exactly what it was so I could write it down. I wrote down everything I ate and what happened.

I was admitted to the hospital on a Sunday and on Memorial Day Monday night, I experienced my first low. I remember precisely when it happened and how it happened. My youngest, Brady, had come up to visit. It was about 8:30 at night. I was talking to him as he sat in a chair next to my bed. All of the sudden I started to feel a little strange, I could feel that my neck was getting weaker and that my eyes were having problems focusing. I could see and feel through my own eyes and body exactly what I saw in my dad’s eyes and how he was feeling every time he had a low. It was strange, it was de-ja-vu, it was almost eerie. But I was positive, I knew what was going on. I just didn’t know how bad it was going to get. And, I didn’t want Brady there to experience it - yet. So I told him I was getting really tired and that he should get going as he had to work the next day. He left and I rang for the nurse. She came in and I told her what was happening and it was starting to happen very fast. Yep, my first noticeable low. As I had been fed insulin intravenously at the beginning until things were under control, they had been playing with it a little bit to see how I was reacting to it. This was it. So they tested my blood sugar and gave me some insulin. After a few minutes, thing finally started to get back to normal.

From then on, every two hours I was poked, prodded, pricked, and cuffed (blood pressure) so the doctors could figure out a plan of action. What they said was this didn’t seem normal for type 2. If I was type 2, I wouldn’t have presented like I did. A crash such as mine usually means a type 1. So they did some more extensive testing. And, yes, I was type 1. Odd and very rare that it would happen at my age, but with the family history with my dad, it would be expected.

In life we learn to adjust to things. It was not only difficult for me, it was difficult for others in my family. I give Bob a lot of credit. He hates hospitals (who likes them) and has never spent much time there, even visiting anyone. He was now faced with a situation he didn’t want to be in either. But he came up to see me every day. He knew as well that if I was going to go through this, he would have to go through it with me as well. So he rearranged how he did things on the farm for a week, so that he could make the drive up every day to see me. The one thing he had to contend with, though, was dealing with the cake that I had bought for the party. It was a full sheet cake, enough to feed 60. The boys had taken it to Marci’s but what was left was sent back with them to the farm – all but just a few pieces were taken from it. Bob called me when he got home Sunday night. “What am I going to do with all this cake? If I start eating it, I will end up in a bed beside you.” I laughed and told him to get out cake pans and cut large pieces to fit into all of them. Then make sure they have covers on them and stick them in the freezer. At least, I wouldn’t have to do any baking for awhile!

The boys had to go back to work and, Brady, being closer was able to stop once in awhile. Casey even came from Chicago late one night and snuck into the hospital through the emergency room at 11:30.

Okay, so I know I am a Type 1 diabetic. If I am going to take control of my life again, I need to know how and what I am going to do to succeed with that. So I journaled, journaled, journaled. The diabetes educator and doctors soon took my notes to figure out what was going on as it seemed a better source than what their notes were. From that we learned and tested and learned and tested until we came up with a formula for how much insulin I should take and when.

It is not that I am different than any other diabetic. I am a diabetic just like them. But what people have to understand is that no two diabetics are the same. Each reacts differently to pills, insulin and the amounts of each. Each has to figure out what and when to eat and how to treat their lows and highs. It is all a balancing game.

One big difference that I did learn. Years ago, it was the “law” of a diabetic that you could not have sugars. That is bunk. Carbs are what a diabetic has to have and yet avoid. Sound confusing? Well, it is, but yet it is as simple as can be. For example, I am supposed to eat four carbs per meal. How did we come up with that formula? It was trial and error. But for me, I needed the calorie intake of four carbs. Anything less, I became lethargic. Anything more and I overshoot my “legal limit” of carbs for the amount of insulin I am taking and would have high spikes. Sugars are carbs and there is kind of a rule of thumb on carbs. A small fist is (about) equal to one carb. Pastas, potatoes (starchy foods) are carbs; cookies, cakes, bars (sweets) are carbs; fruits and some vegetables are carbs; some have more grams of carbs than others. One carb is equal to 15 grams. I have learned after some testing that when I go from a normal or high blood sugar reading into a low, I go into a low fast. So when I start to feel a low coming on, I need to treat it accordingly. If I test my blood sugar and it is in the 50-70 range, I can treat it with simple carbs like milk or cheese; but if my low is less than that, I need a glass of orange juice which brings my low up faster, but the rush of that generally makes me sick. Highs and lows are not good for a diabetic. The goal is to keep things consistent. That is always the most difficult part.

At present, I take five insulin injections a day. I also take a statin drug, only because I asked to have one. I have done lots of research and cutting edge technology tells us that it is the future that diabetics should be on a statin to begin with. It is a little extra heart protection, as the heart is one of the organs affected by diabetes, so are the kidneys. Of course, the main organ impacted is the pancreas, which produces insulin. A type 1 diabetic’s pancreas is either not working completely or it is only partially functioning. There is no turning back the clock on that. The objective is to keep it working at its highest potential for as long as possible.

As for me, everyone looks out for my lows and can tell when it is happening. If my eyes start to roll, then know I’d better do something fast. LOL! Usually it never gets that bad. Most of my lows are in the middle of the night. Pongo is the watcher over the lows then. He will crawl under the blankets and curl up by my legs. He can sense when I am starting to go into lows and will crawl out and paw at me to get up. I can still recognize the lows, but he is just my animal alarm clock before I get too low. (This is nothing too uncommon. Studies have shown that some dogs can sense this, just as some can sense an epileptic seizure before it happens.)

I know that I will always be on insulin and cannot change the fact that I am a type 1diabetic. My hope for others is that if they find they are pre-diabetic or a type 2 diabetic, they jump on the chance to rectify it as soon as possible. Most type 2 diabetics can change the course of their future, type 1 diabetics cannot – they can only try to control the situation as best they can.

Given a change in circumstances, I would certainly not want to take the insulin injections that I do and would never wish it on anyone else. I only hope that, on this Diabetes Alert Day, you take the time to take the risk test, and if the end results are not favorable, that you do something to help change that. It is one of the few tests in life that you can take, in which you then get a second chance to take it again after you have corrected the errors from the first time, and you can come out a “winner, winner - chicken dinner!”