My phone buzzes.
Andres
Almost there. Don’t run away.
I snort despite myself.
Jackson
Too late. I’m living in Canada now.
Andres
I’ll find you. Knowing you, you’ll have befriended a moose and then we’ll have to figure out how to bring that thing back to San Jose with us.
He’s not wrong. A moose would be awesome.
I set my phone down and stare at the door like I can summon calm by force. The knock comes, then the door opens.
Dr. Pedersen walks in with her usual smile and calm demeanor. “Jackson! It’s good to see you.”
I nod. “Hi.”
She starts with all the standard questions, the ones I’ve answered a hundred times over the years, and I answer them with ease. I try to keep it simple until she asks the one that makes my throat tighten.
“How have your lows been?” she says gently.
I swallow. “They’ve been… more frequent. Especially during games. And after flights. And after a night out, I forgot to suspend my insulin when I went drinking.”
“Gotcha.” She nods like that fits a pattern. “Tell me about the severe one.”
I glance at the floor and the memory flashes: the dugout bench, my eyes closing and not opening back up, Andres's voice cutting through the fuzz, the nasal glucose.
“Twenty-eight,” I say quietly.
Her expression doesn’t change, but her eyes sharpen. “That’s very serious.”
“I know.”
“Were you aware you were dropping?” she asks.
My stomach twists harder.
“I felt my pump alert,” I admit. “I… ignored it. Then my vision started to get blurry and my hands went numb.”
Dr. Pedersen doesn’t react with shock or disapproval. She just types away on the computer, making notes.
“Why’d you ignore the alert?” she asks softly.
And that’s the part that kills me. The softness. The lack of judgment. The way it makes the truth feel more exposed. I swallow. “Because I didn’t want to be a distraction. We were at home and there was the crowd. Cameras. And…” My voice cracks a little. “And I’m trying not to be a problem.”
She looks up. Her gaze holds mine. “Jackson, you are not a problem. You’re a person with a chronic illness that requires constant adjustments. That’s not a moral failing.”
My throat burns.
She keeps going, practical now. “Your needs shift with stress, travel, adrenaline, temperature, and activity level. Sports especially. We can tweak your basal settings, your correction factors, and your pre-game routine so you’re not playing on a knife’s edge.”
I nod, grateful for something I can control.
