Mommy and daddy took me to a doctor today who knows a lot about Diabetes Type 1. Mommy says he’s a “specialist” and that means he knows how to make me better. I asked her if he’s going to take the diabetes away but she says, maybe one day, but not today. The office was in very tall building with many offices inside. I was nervous.
The doctor’s name was “Dr. Wasid” or something like that. He was tall, very tall, and his skin was brown. His breath stunk real bad like eggs. He wasn’t very nice. He told me I was very fat and that because I’m fat my diabetes wasn’t going to get any better. He told mommy and daddy that I need to stop eating as much as I am eating right now. I wanted to tell him that I’m not eating as much as he thinks, at least not what I like to eat and that it was not fair. But I didn’t say anything because my parents were talking to him, and mommy says that I can’t interrupt grown ups when they’re talking because that’s bad manners.
Dr. Wasid held my arm, and grabbed the fatty part around my wrist “When this goes away, you may eat the candies you want,” he said. I just looked at him, and held my daddy’s hand very hard. He also told my parents about how much insulin I have to get every time I have breakfast and dinner and that they have to keep a log where they have to write down how much sugar I have. He told them a bunch of other things, but I didn’t pay attention, because I was to busy thinking about the ice-cream man who I saw downstairs. I don’t know why, but all I want to do is eat and eat and eat everything I can’t.
When we got out of the doctor’s office daddy asked me if I liked the doctor. I told him I didn’t because he called me fat and he needs to brush his teeth because his mouth smelled really gross. Daddy said he didn’t like him either, but doctors are like that. He says that even if he’s not nice, he will help me. I just have to listen and do what he says.
Mommy didn’t say anything on our way back home. I know she’s worried about me still. She hates needles as much as I do. That’s why daddy is the one who has to pinch me. Every time it is time for me to get my insulin, she goes away. I don’t now if it’s because she hates needles for real, or she just can’t see how much it hurts me ever time daddy stabs my shoulders. I wish I could be better. I feel that because of me, mommy cries every night. I told daddy I was very sorry for getting sick like this, but he says I didn’t do anything, that this happened because it was meant to be.
I really don’t know what “meant to be” means, but if daddy said so, I guessed it ws okay. I also told him that I’ve been praying to God, so that he will take away my diabetes and that way we will all be happy again. But daddy didn’t say anything back. He just hugged me and said “I love you”. I love you too daddy, I thought, I love you too.
- My Pancreas is Broken by Paloma Gensollen (almostdorothy.wordpress.com)