I Summer in Long Island

I was welcomed home by Keith, a full plate of food for dinner, and a very frantic mother ready to tackle this affliction.  All my parents kept saying was, they wish it were them, they wish they could take it away from me, and I believe them.  They were amazing.  A friend's mother has diabetes as well and he told me how he always feels like he has it too.  When I was given this, so was my family.  It's unfortunate that events like this show you who is there for you and who you can count on, but I am so lucky to have had such a strong support system to get me through this difficult time.
That first night I was home I remember getting out of the shower and checking to see that my blood sugar was 98.  I was shaky.  Is this hypoglycemia?  But 98 is normal.  I'm laughing at myself now.  It was the lowest number I had seen in the past week and obviously freaked out.  I ran into my parents room.  Naturally, my mom was tucked under her covers already and my dad was reading a book.  I told them what I was feeling to which my mom popped up her head and said, go eat something!  As simple as that.  Is that all it takes?  I tried to stay calm.  I couldn't imagine how things would ever be calm when I felt so out of control.
The next few weeks consisted of doctors appointments, checking my blood sugar, counting carbs, giving shots, and googling the shit out of "type 1 diabetes".  I completely regressed and was under the total care and watch of my parents.  After that first night's episode my dad told me to pretend like I was 5 years old, and if something happens in the middle of the night I can run into their room and wake them up.  Well, it never came to THAT, but I did take advantage of their attention.  I bought accessories, my "pouch", a new bag to fit all my supplies for when I go out, whenever that day would come.. and lots and lots of snacks-sugarfree jellos, cheese, nuts - all things I can eat without an injection.  I was learning.
Telling Jordana was hard.  I had planned a whole speech for her, hid all my diabetes crap so she wouldn't see it in "my station" in the kitchen, but when she ran up to my room the day she got home from camp I couldn't contain myself and just blurted it out.  We cried for a bit, hugging on my bed, but I told her how it's all gonna become normal soon and no big deal, almost believing it myself.
Shabbas became a true day of rest.  I could get used to this life.  Lounging around the deck, laying in the sun, reading all three of the Dragon Tattoo books, and of course, more and more diabetes reading.  "Should I save the N.Y. Times for you?", my dad would always ask.  No way, nothing serious.  I watched tons of T.V., all my old sitcoms and dramas.  My days revolved around meals, shots, and checks.  Then we added in walks.
At first I would go with my mom to the Long Beach boardwalk but just sit and wait for her to finish walking.  It was like therapy.  Sitting and watching the waves, thinking, reading.  Then it was time for me to walk.  I would leave the house at 180, go for a half hour walk, and then I was 80.  Magic!  But if that's what would happens after a 30 minute walk, would I ever be able to run again?  Our walks were obviously filled with diabetes talks, more ideas, more theories on how this happened, more analysis, how great some of my friends had been.  A friend was away during the episode but was at my house the minute she got home to see my routine and reassure me that when I am ready to return to the city my friends would be there to ease the transition.
There wasn't that much crying at this point.  The only times I found myself crying were when the numbers weren't right.  "You're so good", my mom would say, "you're only crying because you want to get it right".  I was scared.  If I couldn't get it right, would I be ok?  Would I be back in the hospital?  One night after a walk, I came back to find myself at 250.  250?!?? How is that possible?  We just exercised!  The mood in the kitchen changed, stressed, anxious.  I took 4 units of Novolog to bring me down and to eat my dinner.  This was the night I was experimenting with T and Hewlett Yogurt.  Should I not?  Well, I did.  T, having been there for me every minute of every day since I had been in the hospital, picked me up to try frozen yogurt with me.  I was nervous but excited, a new food, but my favorite food.  I had to make it work.  I recounted the exercise episode with her trying to pinpoint where I went wrong.  Having passed her nursing boards already T was well versed in diabetes lingo, making it much easier to discuss.  As we pulled up to the yogurt store I knew something was wrong.  I was having my first low.  We were still in the car and I pulled out my trusty meter to figure out how much insulin to inject before we entered.  As my shaky hands inserted the test strip and pricked my finger, I waited for the results, 5..4..3..2..1..  50! No wonder!  What do I do??? T, ever so calm, instructed me to eat something and stay calm and that it was going to be fine.  And it was.  Simple as that, again.  That was the first night I realized the balancing act of diabetes.  The ups and downs, highs and lows.  How easily fixable a frightening situation could be, but how shitty it is to have to go through it in the first place.