PROLOGUE
“Can I go home today?” Saylor asked the nurse practitioner who came in to check on her.
“I don’t see any reason you can’t,” Michele said. She had seen Michele every three months for four years since her type 1 diabetes diagnosis at age thirteen.
This was her third hospital stay, excluding when she was diagnosed. She was over it.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll text my mother. She should be here soon, I hope.”
It’s not like her mother was with her for the two days she’d been here already. Just a stupid kidney infection that any other person would get antibiotics for and be on their merry way.
Not her. Her blood sugar was too high to be brought down on her own and she was overrun with ketones. Ketoacidosis. Hence the hospital yet again!
Michele came over to sit on the side of the bed and patted her leg. “You need to take better care of yourself.” Michele’s voice was soothing even if firm.
“I’m trying,” she said. “It’s hard.”
“Saylor. I know. Are you measuring your food for the proper dosing with your pump?” She shrugged and looked away. “I’ll take that as a no. How come?” Michele rubbed her leg a little. She knew she was going to get a lecture, but it’d be a gentle one.
“The scale broke last year,” she said.
“A scale is great, but you can use measuring cups for most things. Or just count out portions. The label on the package gives you that information.”
“Labels?” she asked.
Michele’s shoulders dropped. “You and your parents were taught all of this when you were diagnosed.”
“I don’t remember much from that week,” she said.
She remembered being so sick and barely able to stand, the ambulance arriving, her admittance into the pediatric ICU and spending four days there wondering if she’d die.
Knowing her pancreas was dead and she’d be caring for it the rest of her life felt like a death sentence to her.
She only wanted to be normal like the rest of her friends and never would be again.
“Well,” Michele said. “I know it’s hard. And it sucks.” Saylor snorted. “But it’s part of your life, and you can’t change it. Do something about it. You’re damaging your organs by not caring for yourself.”
“I’ve been telling her that for years.”
She turned to see her grandmother come into the room. “Hi, Grandma. Is Mom or Dad on the way?”
“They should be right behind me.”
“Good,” she said, smiling. “Michele said I can go home today.”
“Saylor and I were having a discussion about her diabetes management and the importance of long-term care. What she does now will affect her in the future.”
“She’s a stubborn one,” Grandma said and sent her a grin. “But we’ll get to work on her. Maybe I can reach out to you for some help?”
“I’d love that,” Michele said and stood. Her favorite nurse practitioner pulled a card out of her lab coat and handed it off. “Please do. Anything to get Saylor on the right path. It doesn’t matter who does it.”
A shot at her parents who had been hands off for at least two years now.
Not always on purpose. Her father wasn’t home much because of his job, her mother working a lot, dealing with her sister’s dramatics and then trying to care for her and the house at the same time.
When Michele left, her grandmother sat in the chair. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Michele said that my ketones are almost gone and the infection is under control. I just need to continue with the antibiotics and drink a lot.”
