My granddaughter, Puck, is a Type 1 diabetic. She's been one all of her life. If you've never had a child with diabetes you cannot fathom the endeavor involved in getting, and keeping their blood sugar right. They don't understand why they can't eat this, or that, why the other kids get cake while they get to watch. Their life is filled with all the needles, and pricks on the finger. Combine that with growth spurts where they, like any child, are truely hungry. Puck was at that stage where she was right on the verge of checking her sugar and understanding the importance of what the numbers mean. She could feel when she was low, worried about it, but just hadn't linked the food thing up yet.
So it was one night when circumstances called for her having to stay with me. I, myself, was just getting used to all the different insulins and boosters required to level her out. My understanding rudimentary. Insulin brings you down and sugar brings you up. On this night she experienced a "fallout." A fallout is where the blood sugar suddenly drops for no apparent reason. The doctors have all kinds of theory about blood sugar, but sometimes nature just takes over and there is no rhyme or reason. Kid eats a good dinner, takes the required amount of insulin, plays, watches TV, and then, at bedtime, when you check the sugar and it comes back at a 45!
There is a saying among diabetics. High sugar will get you someday, but low sugar will get you NOW! Low sugar can induce coma, and end in death in very short order. The child has no idea what's going on. They just know they're sleepy, and that's perfectly normal to them at bedtime. There is a shot you give them at times like this that supposedly will boost the sugar back up into the safe zone, so I gave her it. After about twenty minutes I checked the sugar again with the same alarming result, in fact, a bit lower!
It was about ten at night, so I gave her a small glass of orange juice, then some Coke, and finally cookies. Still nothing. I was dodging the insulin what i didn't want was her dropping any faster than she was, and she was developing what we call "Bette Davis" eyes, as she slowly slipped away. Her vision began to fail. About two in the morning I was about to dial 911. I needed professional assistance and having a sports car, I could not load Puck, and all her brothers up and cart everyone to the ER. I decided to call my friend, Sonny to see if he could come over and watch the boys for me. I wanted to at least accompany Puck to the hospital. Nothing would be more traumatic for her than to have a bunch of strange people load her up and go screaming down the freeway with needles hanging out of her arms.
In about fifteen minutes Sonny, and his friend, Old Michael, rang the doorbell. We called Michael "Old" Michael because he was eighty-four years old. He was a lifelong diabetic. Michael came in with his own kit and went straight to Puck. At this point her head was bobbing. After checking her blood, which was still dropping, he reached into his kit and withdrew a fresh needle. Fingering through his little vials he chose one and prepared the needle. I asked him what he was giving her and he told me it was insulin. I was alarmed. I told him I had not given her any insulin because she was so low, but he held up one finger, told me to trust him, and instructed me to go and fetch the bag of chocolate chip cookies he'd seen in the kitchen on his way in. I did as he said.
He gave Puck an injection, and then two cookies. Puck knew it was forbidden to eat the boy's cookies, but Old Michael assured her it was alright, and this one time she could eat them. I had given her the sugar free cookies reserved for only her. In thirty minutes he checked her blood again. 65! Another cookie, another cc or insulin, half hour later, 80! She was in the "safe" zone! Puck thought it was a party! He put her on his lap. It was now round about four in the morning. He told me to get her a little orange juice. By sunrise Puck was burning a perfect 100. She was also sleepy by now so he put her down on the couch and covered her with a blanket. The dark circles under her eyes had dissipated, and she drifted off into healthy sleep, with chocolate chip cookies on her breath.
As Michael put his kit back together I asked him what method he had used to bring her around. He explained that textbook theory says sugar brings you up, and insulin brings you down, but textbooks don't explain all of the intricacies of diabetes. He told me the insulin WILL bring you down, but if you give it something to "chew" on the exact opposite will occur. His job that night was to get sugar flowing through her blood and being absorbed properly. Obviously, his method worked. The old man kissed Puck on her forehead and walked out to the sunrise.
Old Michael died later that year. Picking vegetables at the church garden in the Texas heat proved to be to much for the old man. He heard the Lord call for him, laid down among the tomato plants, crossed his arms on his chest, closed his eyes, and went home. We never told Puck. I suppose we will someday, when she's older. We'll explain it to her when she has the maturity to understand. One thing we won't tell her though. Old Michael was was a homosexual. He lived with Sonny for forty-five years. He was with the American Red Cross, and his entire life had been dedicated to helping children in disaster areas. He considered the children to be his little friends. Puck was his last little friend.
I have made my views very clear, and I don't back up, but life is a complicated equation, and only God knows the real answers. He sees all and judges hearts. No matter what your views or beliefs are one rule is solid. Don't hate. Don't ever hate. There just might be an Old Michael knocking at your door some night.
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