Chapter 4: White Pyramids

Soft blue skies
Helium balloons float up away
Broad daylight
But we're sunflowers in the rain.

My mama said they used to be white pyramids.
         - Helium, Glass Animals

As I stared up at the drab hospital ceiling, that sweet melodic verse played on repeat in my head. Dave’s iconic falsetto still echoes in the back of my head about a hundred times a day every day. My mama said they used to be white pyramids. I can’t accurately describe why that particular line strikes a chord with me, but it does. Every time I hear it I feel an odd wave of calmness rush over me; it’s soothing in its own melodic way, reminding me of innocence I once had and innocence that we have all lost. This deep into 2020 I imagine we all are craving a dose of innocence right about now.

White pyramids. I like the idea of getting that as a tattoo. I’ve been looking for new ink and I feel like it matches my style. I could place it on the inside of my left forearm; just under the one I got from Australia and just above all of my scars from the numerous IVs. I like tattoos that tell a story, symbols that really show the audience what type of person you are. I think it’s only fitting to get something inspired by the song that helped me get through the worst months of my life.

My mama said they used to be white pyramids.
They float above the sand, they're slowly sinking in.
Are our foundations destined to keep crumbling,
Just 'cause we started this with zero innocene?

I thought the pain in my lower abdomen was just gas. I tried to ignore it as long as I could, but out of caution, I decided to get it checked out. I had appendicitis. I had surgery, but it caused complications and two weeks later I was readmitted to the hospital with a 104-degree fever. In my feverish state, I thought I was dying. I had an infection the size of a golf ball where my appendix used to be. They placed a drain on me and for two more weeks, I walked around my parents’ house as if I were death incarnate. I had a bag attached to me via a very long needle that collected the vile reddish-brown fluids that made me smell like a rotting corpse. By the time I got the bag removed and the infection drained out of me I had lost any semblance of energy I had left. I slept for twelve hours a day and could only walk around for ten minutes at most before feeling like I was going to pass out. The only place I felt truly comfortable was laying in my bed. I had an extreme thirst and no amount of water could quench it. I soon reverted to sugary drinks such as Gatorade, chocolate milk, and juices to no avail. I would urinate at the very least 11 times a day, often waking up in the middle of the night 4 times just to use the bathroom. I lost twenty-five pounds in less than a month, leaving my face gaunt despite the fact that I was stricken with ravenous hunger. My brother was diagnosed with it when he was eleven, my sister in May of this year at the age of twenty-six; I was well aware that the Sword of Damocles was swinging right above my head. The signs were clear as day to me but I was so far in denial, desperate really, that I tried convincing myself that all of these symptoms were just side effects of the physical toll my body had taken. By then I was so broken that I couldn’t bear the idea of something else being wrong with me. It was only when I started to develop another fever and I had slept for eighteen hours straight that I got the courage to admit to myself I needed to go back to the hospital. I broke down as Alexa helped me pack my bag. I tried to the best of my ability to hold back my tears in the twenty-three minute Uber ride to Georgetown. I sobbed on the bench in front of the Emergency Department right before I checked myself in.

My mama said they used to be white pyramids.
They float above the sand, they're slowly sinking in.

The third trip to the hospital was the worst one. They took copious amounts of blood to the point that I was nauseous and puked. IVs were attached to both of my arms, pumping me full of fluids, minerals, antibiotics, and now insulin. The diagnosis wasn’t a challenging one for the doctors. The first thing I said to a doctor in the ER that came to visit me was to test me for diabetes, both my brother and sister have it and now I’m experiencing all of the same symptoms. As I waited for updates, the nurse kept asking me if the doctor had seen me yet and I would tell her no. I finally realized why she was asking and she came clean. My blood sugar was 353- 250 more than what a normal person’s blood sugar should have been. I had Type-1 Diabetes. I was unsuccessful in holding back my tears in front of her.

Are our foundations destined to keep crumbling,
Just 'cause we started this with zero innocence?

Everyone told me that my life won’t change that much with Diabetes, that it’s just a lifestyle change, but I’m still able to do everything that I used to be able to do. What a load of bullshit. Diabetes isn’t a lifestyle change. A lifestyle change is going vegetarian or choosing to use less plastic in everyday life. What I’m working with is a new life. A new normal. Diabetes has forced me to be aware of everything I do in a whole new way. I have to meticulously count every carb I eat to make sure I bolus for insulin properly. I can’t leave my apartment without making sure I have a snack on me in case my blood sugar gets too low. I have to rethink the way I exercise and have to be cautious with how I push my physical limits now. I have to take even more precautions with COVID because I am now considered high-risk. Even my half-baked fantasies and dreams have been shattered because of diabetes. No longer can I participate in the show Survivor, which has been a dream of mine since I became obsessed with it over the summer. I can’t even survive my own apocalypse scenarios anymore because insulin expires after a period of time. But do you know what the thing that has gotten me the most has been? It is knowing that I have lost the choice to take care of myself. No longer can I just curl up in bed and say “fuck the world” and skip meals if I’m feeling sad, lonely, or upset; I have to get up and eat something and log my meals and take insulin. I know it sounds like a ridiculous thing to complain about, but it was a choice I had, and diabetes took that away from me.

It feels like I have been given a whole new rulebook of what I can and can’t do. It’s like I’m rebuilding my foundations on shaky ground. It’s all trial and error, but trial and error is all so overwhelming. Everyone tells me to look on the positives, and admittedly there are many (I come from a family of diabetics, remind you), but it’s hard to look on them when you’ve spent the last three months feeling like you’re dying, only to be diagnosed with an auto-immune disease. My feelings of grief far outway my feelings of joy and optimism.

I feel jaded; it has felt like this year has just beat me down to the point that I’m constantly expecting the worst. I’m quick to anger, I’m quick to get frustrated, I’m quick to annoy; an entire undercurrent of sadness courses through me. I care less about how others are doing.

This is not who I want to be, but it is the person I am in this moment.

I’ve decided to not repress these emotions. I think it’s better to not fight them; to let them all out no matter how ugly they may be. I hope that in doing this I am purging these emotions and advancing through the grieving process. By embracing these feelings I hope to return back to the person I was before all of this. I don’t think these past couple of months have changed the character of who I am, for better or worse. I just want to be done with this process and move on with my new life.

I just can't build on something that begins like this
It's a blood diamond, flawless but for that one thing.

I still struggle with the whole process. Lately, it seems like every day has been a fight just to get my numbers to not be too low. That feeling of being low feels like a dementor sucking your soul- it just leaves you exhausted and shaky. But still, every day I do get a little bit better. I get bolder with experimenting with my blood sugar and insulin doses. I’m getting better numbers. I still have a lot of bad days, but now I’m having good days too. Someday soon I will be completely adjusted to living with Diabetes and maybe then it won’t be such a tiring fight anymore.

Even though Alexa and I moved into a much bigger apartment, I got a new job, lost 45 pounds, read 39 books, found a passion and potential future career in conservation, and significantly improved my skills as a writer it is all but impossible to consider this year a bad year. It’s a blood diamond, flawless but for that one thing. Granted, 2020 has had more flaws than just me getting diabetes and my surgeries (see COVID, Trump, Republicans, etc.) but you get the idea. I have a lot of hopes for this future and the year ahead. I am still guarded. I am still grieving, I’m nowhere near done adjusting to my new diabetic life, and I have an upcoming surgery due to my appendectomy complications, but I am also hopeful. I am ready for a fresh start, and I have high hopes for 2021. I hope that extends to whoever reads this.