It was 1983, and I was five or six years old. My memories are pretty vague. I remember getting sick with something that gave me a sore throat, some kind of virus. My mom took me to the doctor after a week who confirmed it wasn't bacterial and sent me home. We went again a week later when I wasn't improving, and again was sent home - this time, maybe with antibiotics.
I slept. Incessantly. I couldn't stay awake. I literally slept for 20 hrs straight, when my panicky mother would finally wake me up and beg me to eat something. By the time she could make it back from the kitchen with saltines, I'd be out cold again.
This eventually progressed. I had lost a lot of weight, and looked a bit skeletal. My mom tried to fatten me up, luring me to eat with ice cream sundaes. This was the worst possible thing one could do if your blood sugar was (unknowingly) high, but the best possible thing she could do for me: I got a last hurrah of a heck of a lot of goodies.
Around the end of the third week being sick, I started having trouble breathing, my breath was very short and I was gasping for air. Of course, my poor Mommy was terrified, and took me straight back to the doctor. I couldn't stay awake in the waiting room filled with screaming kids. The doc took one look (and probably one smell) and knew; he said you need to take her straight to the ER. NOW.
I don't remember much about this time, so some of this might be wrong, but I am pretty sure my poor Mommy was alone - the family was in the middle of a move to NC. Pretty sure my dad was in NC on business.
When we got to the ER, I think I kind of passed out coming through the doors. I vaguely remember my Mom arguing with a nurse about how she wasn't going to fill out any damn forms.
I woke up again when the elevator dinged. I distinctly remember, "Ooops! Wrong floor!" I have no idea how my mother didn't lose it that day.
Next thing I know, I'm on a table with a giant light over me and a lot of people kept hitting my face asking me to stay awake. The light was really bright and I just wanted to close my eyes. They kept sticking me, but a child's pysche is smart: we don't remember pain, we remember only the circumstances. Apparently my veins had collapsed and they couldn't get a line started. I assume they eventually did a central line or something.
When I was on the table, I like to think I had a mini-near death experience. When I closed my eyes, there was a light BEHIND me, not in front of me, and I was falling towards it. Then they'd slap me, I'd open my eyes and BAM, be back on the table. I don't remember anything after this. I fell further each time I closed my eyes.
I only remember little parts of my hospital stay. I remember it was Easter and the kind, yet clueless volunteers brought me an Easter basket filled with stuff my Mom had to remove (candy). I remember waking up, probably at the crack of dawn and calling Mom & Dad from the lounge. Pretty sure Mom stayed there at first, but I think I was pretty out of it in the beginning.
I think my blood sugar was like > 1500 mg/dl at the time, and it is a miracle I made it.
While it sounds horrible, I don't really remember it, and I certainly don't remember pain. I remember bruises from all of the IV's, but I don't remember the ouchies :) This event was the only traumatic event of my life with diabetes. My childhood was pretty carefree, and my memories are only dotted with stories of diabetes, not dominated. But alas, we'll get to that another day!
Oooo, one last thing I remember: presents, lots and lots of presents. See, everything has a flip side LOL.
Kaylee has this utterly cute routine whenever we give her a bone (re: nutradent).
First she happily takes it from you, runs away.
After about two minutes, she realizes, "I'M TRAPPED!"
"Wherever I am going to bury this thing???"
Thus commences the barely audible whining wheeze, keep in mind the bone is still fully in her mouth at this point. The whines increase, she comes to sit in front of you. The whines become an all out CRY, whimpering, whining, lips trembling, almost losing grip of the bone.
"MOM I HAVE HAVE HAVE to bury this!"
After a while, she gives up on you letting her out of the house, and chooses a location. Usually center of the carpet or her bed.
Now that she has chosen this brilliant hiding spot, she 'buries' it by dragging her nose from about 10 inches away from the bone to the bone, in a circle. It takes her about 15 nose drags to approach and nose drag from every angle around the circle. I assume if she were in sand or dirt, this would suitably drag dirt and cover the bone?
She collapses, happy, she has buried her bone. And sleeps. She'll eat it in about 12 hours!