June 13, 2015, Part 1
Luke woke up feeling worse than he ever has. His skin is gray. His cheeks sunken in. I have never been so worried about him in my life.
I called and got him an appointment at 9:00 a.m. When it was time to leave, I had him take along a bowl just in case he got sick again. He didn’t, thank goodness.
We arrived at the doctor’s office and they checked us in. We got in surprisingly quickly. Luke looked pathetic as he laid on the table with his barf bag. And this time, he used it. A few times.
The doctor came in. He checked his vitals. All were normal.
“He just has a bad case of the flu.“
“I’ll prescribe him some Zofran for the nausea. That should make him feel a little better until the bug passes.” I wasn’t convinced he was right. I knew the symptoms of Type 1 Diabetes. My mother’s intuition wasn’t ready to accept that this was the flu. “What about diabetes?” I asked him. “I know the symptoms could be drinking a lot and peeing a lot, which he’s been doing. And extreme vomiting is a symptom, as well.” He tells me that it’s true that excessive drinking and urination are symptoms, but not vomiting.*
“Could you do a finger prick anyway? Just to give me peace of mind?“
He agreed that he could do that. The nurse went to get the meter.
“Um, we’ve got a problem,” the nurse says. “The meter says 500.”
It’s here where things kind of all start blurring together.
“You have Type 1 Diabetes,” the doctor tells Luke.
He tells him that pancreas has stopped working. That there is no insulin to break down the sugar. That’s why he’s felt so crappy this week. He then turns to me and tells me that he is going to call the emergency room at our local hospital. We don’t have to speed there. We can stop home and pack a bag, get Joel. But to get to the ER within the hour.
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