Diabetes

I remember looking at him through a massive blur from my eyes swelling with tears trying so hard not to let one drop. Dale was one of my favorite people, my hero.
Once upon a time, in a little village there was a young girl, she was broken and alone. In swooped this wonderful family and took her as their own, everthing they did, she did. Everywhere they went, she went. Eating dinner at the table, warm corn chowder and a glass of milk, some saltines and late nights talking to her new "sister" about the world. They saved her once, they saved me.
I looked him dead in the eye, took his hand, leaned in so he'd know, and said I love you for the last time. The machines running, the wheezing of his breath, the faint smell of death and silence creeping through the hospital room was enough to make anyone cry. Dale was my hero, one of my swooping angels. He died from Diabetes, organ failure, Neuropathy, a horrible side effect of Diabetes. His dialysis running low, I don't think they could've found any other place to put the fusion IV's. So pale, so calm looking back at me through his thick rimmed glasses.
I gave him a hug, walked away and shut the door to all of his friends gathered in the room. Standing in the hallway with Alicia, his daughter,trying so hard not to fall and cry like a child. So many memories captivated my brain, flooded my senses making me nautious that he'd be gone the next day.
So time has gone by and not one of us has forgotten Dale. Sometimes I still think he'll come around the corner and flip me the "curly bird" and say "Hey kid! What you think about this huh?" and laugh so hard it shook the house.
Things have changed, we've all grown up and out into our own paths. It's been years since, years that I have ignored my own mortality.
I sat in the ER at the local hospital tonight, with pain in my feet so bad I sobbed. Tracing up my legs, curving down my heel, making my toes numb was this disease called Neuropathy. I'm only 19 years old I cried to myself.
For so long I've forgotten my Diabetes was real. That it was in fact a fatal disease, painful and strict, unwilling to bend it holds your life to a curriculum of events, strength. He was so brave for pretending it didn't hurt. If I had known then how much pain he might've been in I would've taken out the trash for him.
People think I'm faking it, or that I'm exaggerating. When I watch my mother in pain from the same ugly diseases I couldn't find enough in me to believe her once. But now, feeling so incapable, so erupted with reality, so painfully struck with this ugly illness rearing it's head into my life as I sit in that hospital bed, with funny machines, the TV button control and white sheets, four white walls, white DR's coats, white shoes. I am the victim now. The Dr was nice. Understood my pain, shook is head when I told him my age and proceeded to give me five days off from work. What am I suppose to do with five days off? Do I have to take them? He said if I don't take this time off and see some more doctors then it would only get worse. I can't imagine it worse.
Of everything I've tried to accomplish in my life this has really been a hard one to overcome. I'm usually the person to steps past obsticles and lives for the day, the moment, trudging through confident and motivated. I pick up where I left off, I finish what I start, I deal with things as they come in a positive attitude, or at least I try to. This one is more than a step, this is so hard for me. I'm always the strong one. I'm always on top of things and ready to go. I'm always seizing the moment and capturing my friends.
Why now do I just want a hug? I want my mom.. haha.. I sound like I'm bitching about life, I'm not usually like this I promise, but what would you do? How am I not suppose to cry right now? How am I not suppose to feel so vulnerable and needy. I'm such a big baby I know but I am scared. I don't want to cloud anyone's memories of me with four white walls, white sheets and the smell of death. I hate hospitals, I've grown up in them. I just want to be a kid again.
I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. I don't want to stop living or feel handicapped but I know that's going to happen anyway. I'm not worried about how I'll deal with it, I've got God after all.. :) But my friends, my family? They have already dealt with this for so long. Why me now? Between Dale, my mother and me they're going to give up. I'll be ok for now. Maybe the next 10 to 20 years but I can't walk like I use to yet, I can't work right, I can't live comfortably without pain and everyone isn't goign to slow down for fat ol' me. That's what I'm worried about. I guess. Who is goign to be the one that makes sense? Or is strong? Or is positive? Nuetral even? lol I just hope that you'll all forgive me and fly a little slower from now on. :D I guess I'm just really surprised by it all and I'm sorry if I'm ranting about this. It's not the worst thing in the world...