Finally I was admitted into the hospital, and taken to a floor that was specifically for diabetics like myself. The push down the hallway was a bit different this time, because I knew that it had a purpose at its core.
Once I arrived to my room I was kind of surprised to know that I was expected to spend time here, and yet I was sharing a room. There was a bit of a challenge there being in a robe that did not completely close, and having a roommate whom I did not know.
After I was settled into my room it was nothing short of constant waves coming in and out. Waves of doctors and nurses all telling me what to do, how to do it, poking me trying to drain my blood because they could never have too much, taking my vital signs and loading me up with information after information. I was not used to this method nor did I understand it, and in fact I found myself a bit confused still trying to grip around the fact that I have an illness.
One of the hardest things to get used to was the fact that my potassium was very low, and I had to be “injected” around the clock with a high dosage of potassium. One this was not fun, two it was not only painful going in but excruciating. If I had to describe it for you perhaps it would be like having metal pumped inside, and as long as it was being pumped inside it hurt.
Not only was I being bombarded with doctors, nurses, information, potassium, blood drawn one vile at a time. I was also being injected with insulin very frequently, yes I completely am thankful because it was all in an effort of saving my life. Each time the nurses were successful at getting my glucose levels down they would somehow rise back up. I was not allowed to have any food I was on a strict fast, and the only thing that this girl was taking in were chunks of ice.
Night time approached as my nurse changed, and in walked some tall man with tattoos of skulls running down his arm. I had a very hard time understanding how he was even allowed to work in such an environment around patients with so many tattoos.
He pulled up a chair and sat next to my bed even though I was still confused and now slightly out of it being pumped with insulin and potassium and completely deprived of food. I described how I was feeling as he confirmed it and told me that it was kind of like having to come down off of glucose.
Some kind of way we got on a discussion about various things (kind of odd but okay). Then I recall him telling me stories about other diabetics and things that had taken place. For instance the story about a man whose glucose had dropped too low, and how he snapped. The man began to pick up things and destroying them. I also recall a story of a young women who had been hospitalized once and ended up back in the hospital because she was not taking care of herself.
Not that I am a rude person, and I get it I mean I really do. Tell me the stories that are more valuable in fear, so that I myself will be more than motivated to take care of health. This was a good tactic, but at the moment I was not feeling myself truth is I was sick, and needed time to heal before I digested anything. The last thing I remember was taking a look at him sitting next to my bed just staring at me.My eyes got heavy and rolled then I guess I went to sleep……………..