Tiny Drops, Page 8

  “Is it all right that I came? I wasn’t sure.”

  “I’m glad you did. I wanted to explain what was happening. I’m sure it must have been really scary for you.” She’s all seriousness now, the humor in her voice from moments before gone.

  There’s a folding chair beside the sink. I grab it, setting it out beside the bed. “I was really worried, but I’m glad you’re okay now. You are okay, right?”

  “I’m getting better. My kidneys were shutting down, but my numbers are improving, looking better every day.”

  “What happened?”

  Lori looks at her lap, and for a moment I think she isn’t going to answer. After a year and a minute have gone by, her eyes return to mine. “It’s a long story. Are you sure you have the time?”

  “I’d like to know, if you want to tell me.” I hold my breath as I wait for her reply, silently pleading with her to tell me. The whole experience really freaked me out. I need to understand it. Please tell me.

  “I’m new here. Did you know that?” she asks but doesn’t wait for a response. “This is the first time I’ve ever been out on my own. About a month ago, I accidentally knocked my bottle of R insulin off my desk—it shattered. I didn’t know what to do, or how to get more, and I didn’t want to worry my mom with it, so I just took my long acting.” She pauses, her eyes on some image from the distant past. “I had run out of strips, too, but I felt totally fine. I had been exercising so much, I thought I was maintaining fine without it. I didn’t think there was anything wrong.” She looks up at me, her eyes begging me to understand, and I do. I’ve only been diabetic for a couple of months, but I can already tell there is a fierce need to feel independent about dealing with it.

  “What did it do to you? Was your sugar too high? Is that what caused you to hallucinate?” What’s wrong with me? Why do I keep asking so many rude questions? I glance back at Lori and return her soft smile. I’m sorry, I mouth, and she laughs, releasing me from my awkwardness.

  “I was in DKA, diabetic ketoacidosis. When your body can’t process the glucose, it causes all sorts of problems with everything. It has a domino effect; one thing gets out of whack, causing a multitude of other things to follow.” She pauses, letting me process what she’s saying. Her next question sort of throws me. I’m not sure how it ties in. “Have you seen the movie Outbreak?”

  “Jesse took me to see it this summer. He’s my brother.”

  “I saw it this summer, too, with my boyfriend. I think that’s why I was hallucinating about experiments. I’m sorry if I freaked you out, and if I haven’t said it already, thank you. You saved me, Brice.” She reaches over and grabs my hand for a moment. “Do me another favor—promise you’ll never go without. I’ve learned a lot in the last few days, but that was the most important lesson of all. Even if you think you’re fine, going without insulin is a sure way to wind up in trouble.”

  “Seems like the more I know, the more questions I have.”

  “Right? Too bad they don’t give out a handbook with this disease: One Hundred Things Every Diabetic Should Know.” Lori smiles, and I realize how good it feels to sit with someone who understands completely.

  13

  Doctor Knows Best

  “Brice? Come on, we have to leave now or we’ll be late!”

  Mom’s been yelling at me for several minutes, but it isn’t helping me find my boot. I’m never late, mainly because I just don’t care that much about how I look. I’ve searched everywhere. I’m starting to think there’s some sort of boot conspiracy going on here.

  “Mom! Did you take my boot?” I huff, stomping into the living room, one foot safely enclosed in my lucky boot—my favorite boots—the other’s bare, exposed to all the dangers of the world, but it only takes one to make this bad day worse.

  “Ouch.” I hop up and down, squeezing my poor toes. I mis-stepped, trying to avoid the boxes lying all over the living room—waiting for Christmas decorations to be tucked back in them.

  Mom laughs as I melt in a heap on the floor.

  “Don’t laugh at me! It hurts!” I fold into a crisscross position and cradle my foot in my hand. Ever so slowly, I begin to wiggle my toes. Pulling my sock off, I cringe at the sight of my blue toe. “It’s blue! I think I broke it. Can we just stay home? Can you call in sick to the doctor?” Giggles erupt from me, despite my pain.

  “Oh, honey…” she pauses, still trying to contain her laughter as she sits on the floor in front of me. “Here,” she beckons, “let me see it.”

  I groan as I set my foot in her lap. Throwing myself backwards, my head smacks the edge of the coffee table. “Ahhh…I hate this day!” I scream, rubbing the spot on the back of my head.

  Mom’s hands still, and all traces of the humor she sat down with are gone. “Baby, you’ve got to stop beating yourself up. We’ll get this all figured out. You’ll see.”

  All I can do is nod. It doesn’t seem like anything will ever be figured out again. Nothing is ever stable. I try to follow the diet—I do the medicine when I’m supposed to, I drink lots of water, I exercise. Okay…maybe the exercise thing is a stretch. I walk—if that qualifies. I’m trying. I do all of these things, but the numbers are always wrong. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to have one day where it wasn’t bouncing all over the place. It makes me crazy, sad, tired, angry—most of all, I feel defeated and I hate it. “Are we going to be late?”

  She glances at her watch, “Nope, not if we ditch the boot and just grab your slippers.”

  You’d think chairs in a waiting area would be comfortable. Especially if you’re going to be waiting for a long period of time. But no. I roll from one butt bone to the other, giving each a reprieve from the pressure for a few moments. I can’t take it any longer—I stand, twisting from side to side, my muscles needing to move. I drop at the waist and shake my body out. Two hours is too long to be sitting in a chair—waiting.

  “We’ll get lunch as soon as we get out of here,” Mom whispers. Glancing at her watch, her eyebrows furrowing, she lets out a deep sigh and drops her hands back to her lap. Her chuckle surprises me. The woman closest to us glances over the cover of her magazine, her eyebrow reaching higher, until I imagine it running into her hairline. Wow, I guess laughter is frowned upon here.

  She came in right after us, and I keep wondering who will get to go first. I lean closer to my mom, keeping my eye on eyebrow lady the whole time. “What’s so funny?” I whisper.

  “The fact that I was in such a rush to get here.” She stretches her arms up above her head. This must be torturous for her. She doesn’t sit still—ever. Mom could be defined as life in motion.

  “I was talking with your brother this morning…”

  I groan as her words hit me. Eyebrow woman sets her magazine in her lap. She adjusts her position, getting comfortable for the show.

  “I know how much you care for Harry—we all do. But what I need you to understand is at this stage of your life, he’s a man and you’re still a child. For the sake of both of your futures, I need you to promise me you won’t pursue these feelings you’re having.” She reaches over, giving my hand a little squeeze.

  Of course she would bring this up here. I shrug her off, positioning myself away from her. The door opens and a woman in bright red scrubs with little pink hearts all over them walks out, holding a chart. I wish with all my might that my name is printed at the top.

  “Marsha,” she says, smiling kindly at eyebrow woman, who looks at me triumphantly. Today, victory is hers. I have to fight to keep my tongue in my mouth as she gets up to leave.

  Mom reaches into her purse, pulling out a little baggy with peanut butter cracker sandwiches inside, and I feel as if I’ve reverted somehow. I remember years ago, she used to carry little baggies of Cheerios to keep me happy when we were out and about. Now we’re back to packing snacks.

  “I think you should have a few of these.”

  I take the baggie from her and pull out a cracker. Someone clears their throat loud
ly as I stuff it in my mouth. I glance up to see the woman behind the front desk giving me a hard stare. Once my attention is hers, she nods to the sign hanging to the right of her desk. I pause midchew, barely making out the words from here—No food or beverages in the waiting area. Of course. I stop chewing, my mouth still full. “Sorry.” Bits of cracker go flying with my spoken apology and I’m mortified. I throw my hand over my mouth. Slumping down in the chair, I quickly chew and swallow. This is ridiculous. I just want out of this place.

  As I’m planning my escape, the red-scrubbed woman makes an appearance again. When my name leaves her mouth, I jump up, glancing back at Mom. She quickly follows.

  “Are you with him?” She smiles at me expectantly.

  What?

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you here with Brice?” she asks, looking around me. Oh, I should be used to this by now.

  “I am Brice,” I tell her, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. I smile instead. People.

  “Just eat a couple.” My mom tries to push the crackers into my hand for what has to be the tenth time since we came back to the exam room. That sounds so sterile, but it’s what’s written on the tiny sign mounted beside the door—Exam Room 13. I knew it was a bad sign from the start. If you have more than thirteen exam rooms, patients are tucked away all over the place. I’m certain our lunch will be more like a dinner, so I reluctantly snatch the bag of crackers from her hand and pull one out.

  After the second one, my mood improves a bit. There’s a quick tap at the door and the feeling diminishes—gets pushed out by unease—as the doctor walks in. I pass the bag of crackers back to my mom, hoping that he doesn’t see. My hopes are unwarranted, however, because he’s failed to look up from the chart.

  “Brice,” he says, his hands still on the papers in front of him.

  “Yes,” I reply, unsure if I’m supposed to respond or not.

  “I’m Dr. Edwards. I’ll be reviewing your case today.” His eyes are still cast down.

  “Did you bring your blood sugar diary?” he asks, finally taking the time to look at me.

  I have to stop myself from saying hi because we’ve already done introductions. You don’t truly meet someone until you look them in the eye. His are icy blue. I bet women think he’s attractive. I glance at my mom to see if she’s noticed him yet. She noticed. She’s running her fingers through her hair, and when she sees me watching her, she swats at my elbow.

  I pull open my bag with my supplies and take out the tiny booklet. The stack of pages—held together by two staples in the middle—resembles a check register. My hand shakes as I pass it to him. I’m generally pretty good at tests…sort of goes with the territory of being someone who likes to learn. I imagine this is what it feels like to hand over a test you know you’ve failed. The numbers recorded in the book fluctuate like mad—despite all of my efforts to control it. I’ll get it figured out—have a day where things are good. Then diabetes up and changes the game. I can’t seem to win.

  I watch his back straighten as he reviews the log. His expression turns to stone as he mutters, “If you keep on like this, you’ll be dead before you’re twenty-five.”

  Mom springs from her chair, knocking it to the ground as she moves. Her body is between his and mine, trying to shield me from his words. But it’s too late. They’ve already pierced through my heart, ripping the very fabric of my soul. Tears well—silent drops rolling steadily down my cheeks as I sit, helpless to stop them.

  “How dare you!” Her words are venom rolling from her tongue. She snatches my chart and diary from his hand, stuffing them inside the bag that’s lying at my feet, and turns to grabs my hand.

  “Where are you going? You can’t take that.”

  “It’s coming with us. You’ll never touch anything that has to do with my daughter again,” she says, inches from his face. “Ignorant.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard exactly what I said, don’t play dumb. As far as I’m concerned, if you don’t know kindness, then you know nothing at all.”

  I’ve never felt more defeated in my life, and now I’ve the equivalent of a grand piano hanging above my head by a piece of fishing wire, ready to drop at any moment. I glance at my mom who is shaking out her arms beside me as we stand, waiting for the elevator.

  “We’ll find you a new doctor.” She pauses for a moment, lips pursed as her eyes search my face frantically. “I had to leave before I punched that fucker.” She turns back to the elevator, and I smile. She keeps calling me a warrior—but I know who the real hero is.

  14

  Soggy Slippers

  I stand, shivering as the snow that has turned to sleet pelts me in the face. I’m waiting for my mom to open the door. No key fob for this one. It doesn’t even have automatic locks. She has to reach over to my side and pull up the little silver nob. I can feel the water seeping into my slippers, and the cold is making my toe throb even more. I knew I hated this day—I should have never left the house.

  She gets the lock open, and I slide in. “You must be freezing. Are you freezing?” she asks, grabbing my hands and shoving them toward the air vent…which is still blowing cold air.

  I shrug her off and place my hands under my legs. I can’t stop the shivering. I’m not sure if it’s a direct result of the cold or the doctor’s words. The warmth of my tears on my face tells me that it’s likely both. Why would he say that? “Why would he say that?”

  “Oh, honey.” She looks at me—really looks at me—and I notice for the first time that I’m not the only one who’s crying. I see her trying to gather strength and the right words, but maybe there aren’t any. I feel worse for her than I do me. Moments ago, I wouldn’t have thought that possible, but what do you say to your kid when someone has just told them they’re going to die? Soon. Like within the next ten years. I know we never know when we’re going to die, but ten years feels really short. I thought I had more time.

  “Because he’s an idiot. Because he spent all of those years with his head in a textbook, forgetting to take a moment to learn the most important lesson of all. He forgot to learn how to be human…or maybe he never was in the first place. I meant what I said in there. Learning to treat others with kindness—it’s what really matters.” She rubs her hand across my cheek. “I know things have been crazy, and we haven’t been able to get a good hold on this, but we will. We can. I won’t let what he said be true. I won’t. It’s not.”

  I nod, glancing quickly at my lap. I have to look away. A huge swell of emotion threatens to burst out in giant sobs at any moment. But I won’t let it. I can’t. She’s been so strong for me. I don’t want her to see me break.

  I take several big breaths, trying to will the emotion back down. I see it as a thing and try to visualize it getting smaller until I can fold it up tightly and tuck it away somewhere. He’s cracked my surface—I can feel it. If I give in now and let it out, I’ll be totally shattered. I don’t know if there’s enough glue in the world to put me back together again.

  “How’s your toe?”

  I love her more in this moment than I ever have before. She’s brilliant—my mother. I’m sure she can see the crack and has offered up a bit of glue in the form of a changed subject.

  “It hurts terribly,” I say through chattering teeth. The cold has seeped inside of me, running like ice water through my veins.

  “We’re skipping lunch, obviously.” She glances out the window at the darkening sky. “I think I have everything I need in the fridge for some chicken noodle soup. I even have a bag of those egg noodles you like in the cupboard. We’ll get you inside, and while you take a bath to warm up, I’ll fix us a feast.” She reaches over and grabs my leg. The squeeze she gives it is almost too tight, but I feel the love there. I’m grateful for it.

  “Thanks, Mom.” My voice sounds so weak. I hate it. The hot tears continue to stream down my face—their warmth a constant reminder of their presence. I feel like I’ll never be warm again. If I ever
find my boot, I’m never letting it go. Who knows? Maybe this whole day would have turned out differently if I had started it properly—with my boots on.

  We start the drive in silence, but it doesn’t last. I knew it wouldn’t. When feelings get so big they’re thick in the air all around you, you have to talk about them. You just do. It’s unhealthy if you don’t.

  “It’s okay to feel sad. It’s all right to let yourself break down.” She pauses, coming to a stop at a red light. As soon as the car starts moving again, so do her words, as if her foot isn’t just giving power to the car but fueling her speech as well. “If it were me, I think I’d let myself totally break down and sob. I’d probably put a time on it, though. I like things to feel orderly…even break downs.” She laughs, but it ends on a strangled sob. My eyes flick to the time, 3:47. My throat swells and I manage to suck a deep breath before my sobs join hers—the dam has broken free. Fresh tears follow the trail of what feels like thousands before them. I’m able to take a deep breath as the tension leaves me, but the tears continue to flow.

  I turn to look at Mom. She’s staring at me, not the road, and I realize we’re sitting in the parking lot at home. So lost in my despair, I didn’t even notice we’d stopped.

  She lets out a funny noise, causing her lips to huff out, flutter. She rolls her eyes at me as her lips dance and the laugh that escapes me is almost painful—like it could rip out another sob on its journey. But it doesn’t. I take another deep breath. This one isn’t so shaky; this one feels strong again.

  “Thanks, Mom. I think I needed that.” I glance at the clock and laugh for the second time. 3:52. I gave myself five minutes to break down. I hadn’t expected to put myself back together in that time, too.

  “Make sure you check your sugar before you start your bath.” Mom closes the door behind us. The storm is getting worse. I’m glad we’re inside now. I wish we never had to go out again.