The Idea of an Essay, Volume 2

29 I had been dealing with the breakup of a friendship at church, and I had to manage my devilishly heavy schoolwork load. Apparently, in addition to all these events, I was obliviously experiencing symptoms of my diabetes the last few months of the school year. All that together within six months wore me out emotionally and physically. On the day of my diagnosis, my mom and I sat in a little yellow room at my doctor’s office, exotic animal photos ornamenting the walls and children’s books filling the shelves beside our chairs. We waited for my pediatrician, Dr. Bockhorn, to come and hopefully give us an explanation for my unusual, unexplained symptoms. The tall, slender, smiling doctor came in and proceeded with her usual checkup procedure. As she was looking over my vital signs that the nurse had taken and examining my ears, nose, and throat, we chatted some. In our conversation, we touched on how emotionally depressed I had been that year with all the commotion and stress. By the end of our discussion, Dr. Bockhorn suggested that I seek counseling to help me become “stable” again. I firmly rejected this proposal in my mind and was overwhelmed by the thought of meeting with a counselor. I tried to deny this need, but all I could do was cry again as I had done so many times that year. Resorting to tears had become second nature to me in the past six months. After this conversation concluded, she gave me a cup and sent me off to the bathroom. I came back with the specimen to be tested. My mom and I were once again left alone in the room. It was quiet except for the almost whispered dialogue between the two of us. With tears in my eyes and a stuffy nose, I said, “Mom, I don’t want to do anything this summer.” It wasn’t long until Dr. Bockhorn returned. She came in, looked me in the eye, and directly said, “I’ve found glucose in your urine, and I suggest that you go to the emergency room immediately.” I had no idea what this meant at the time because I was so flustered. I turned to Mom, and silently asked, “What?” She responded with a shocked expression on her face, but still calmly said, “It means you might have diabetes.” I cried the whole ride to the hospital. My eyes burned at this point. Looking out the window, I could see the sun shining in the bright blue sky and people walking down the streets. It was a lovely day, and I had originally planned to enjoy it like a normal teenager would have. I even considered getting a group of friends together