Happy Hours

One of the most sensible conventions in the life of a sick person are the Happy hours. There are some unexpected hours when it seems like the inexorable decline has suddenly plateaued, when the pain is for a moment bearable. The problem is, it's not gonna stay. At the time, it's just a good day.

There were a few days when my levels used to be normal, just between 70-99 mg/dl. For the rest of the days, I never used to be under 360 mg/dl.

One good thing, your body gets used to a certain level of pain ,when you feel it, everyday, every moment of your day.

Eventually my body started giving in. I started getting used to high levels.

Standing in my room, I was looking at the word Hi imprinted on the Glucose meter.

It was a funny kind of euphoria, kind of it that leaves you confused. A part of me thought that it might just be an error. I tried checking it again. It showed the same thing, Hi.

I walked over to my father, who was sitting, reading a newspaper. I told him I couldn't check my levels.

He asked me why, and I showed him the Glucose meter.

The next thing I remember, we were on our way to Chandigarh, going to see an Endocrinologist.

The nurse checked my levels. It read 850 mg/dl.

She looked at me bewildered and said "Do you feel alright? "

I looked at her and smiled.

"Yeah I feel good " I said.

She asked me again " Do you feel dizzy or sick in any way?"

I just nodded my head and said "No, I feel alright."

My dad looked at me. He didn't say anything. I was trying to act normal. The only thing I could think of was my mother, who would have scolded me bad, if she had been in that room.

I used to be an active chap back then. I used to play a range of sports like Badminton, Basketball, Soccer & Volleyball. I was always mobile, trotting all over the place so I never really felt sapped of my energy. I was always spirited, up to do things, until I reached the point, when my body started to throw up, puking all over the place. I used to go cold feet, drops of cold sweat ran down my temple, that's when my body used to call it quits, drained of any energy it had.

My parents tried all they could, to ward it off. A routine of blood tests done every 6 months, followed by a periodic visit to the Endocrinologist. They used to tell me that I'm having episodes of a Vitamin deficiency and scarcity of Iron, nothing to worry about, so I could never speculate any other complications apart from Diabetes.

I was mistaken.

My Endocrinologist was in his late 60s , a self compelled Samaritan, whose job was supposed to relate the pattern of symptoms, and join the dots to enlighten me about my condition. It eventually turned out that he wasn't too good at it.

He never briefed me about Diabetes and the maladies that followed.

As a result, my average plasma glucose concentration swing up to 10.3% , the normal range being, 5.6% and 7%.

Diabetes turned out to be my new religion, and Insulin shots twice a day was my dogma.

It was all serene, but little did I know that it was just the calm before the storm.

I had a vaginal infection when I was 14. It started with mild itching, felt nothing noticeable, unless one day it was blistered. I didn't mention it to anyone, partly because I felt ashamed and partly because I was hoping that it'll get better.

It didn't.

Instead, it got so melancholic, that I couldn't walk or sit, even lay down. It was hurtful, so bad as it eventually turned out into a huge boil, around my groin.

My grandmother and my mother used to watch out for me, taking me to the loo and helping me lay down and sit. It stayed for about a month. Lucky enough, it was winter vacations, all that while.

Doctor said if the medications weren't effective enough then she will have to operate the infection.

It was my cousin's birthday and we were having his party. My dad was supposed to drop me and pick me back up.

On the way back as soon as he picked me up my legs rubbed against each other, causing the ulcer on my genitals to burst. I collapsed with a loud shriek.

My father was bewildered, not knowing what to do, he rushed me into my room as soon as possible.

I was laying on my bed, clenching my teeth and wrists, trying to somehow get rid of the agonizing pain.

Later that night, I saw my mother crying at her helplessness, for she couldn't do anything to ease my pain.

It is the worst feeling ever, watching your parents cry.

Though some part of me still thinks I deserved it, because I contravened anyone who used to tell not to have sweets or soda.

One of those nights, I missed my dinner and slept.

At midnight something prod me stark awake.

I felt a strange blankness around me. My cheekbones were numb and I was sweating, bad.

I felt starved, like I had never before. Famished, I rushed to the kitchen, turned on the lights and got some snacks out.

It was dreary, the night was dead quiet, adding to the monotony of my feeling.

I felt bleak, my vision going colorless.

Impulsive, I hurried up to my parents and turned on the lights. They were hysteric. Nobody could understand what happened.

Father checked my levels. He couldn't believe what he saw. I was alarming low.

My mother handed me bread, butter and a full glass of milk.

After a while,I revived my senses.

It was my first experience with low blood sugar level.

Nobody could sleep again all night.