Fight on Fighter

This is gonna be the worst day of my life

I sat uncomfortably on the bench in the doctor's office when the doctor came in with a weird-looking instrument.

"We have to stick your finger," she said.

"Will it hurt?" I asked, hating the babyish whimper that came out of my mouth.

"It won't hurt a bit," she promised. I shuddered as she put a rectangular piece of what looked like plastic into a slot in the side of the machine.

"Here we go!" she said cheerfully. Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one that was about to get stabbed with a needle so that someone could measure something in my blood.

I flinched as a loud click screamed through the room. A pinch made me recoil from the contraption, seeing the spot of blood on my finger drip onto the white paper lining the bench. The doctor seized my hand gently and pressed the spot of blood to the strip.

Fascinated, I watched as the red drop spread over the green edge of the plastic, and then a number started blinking on the monitor-like thing that the doctor was holding. Her eyes grew wide and she excused herself quickly. I shifted in my seat. A second later, the doctor came back in.

"You need to take her to the ER," she said calmly to my mom.

My head whirled, and I reached for the table to steady me. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

"Her A1C has been over 14 for a long time. It won't even give us an average blood glucose for the past three months; it's been so high."

"But why do we need to take her to the hospital?" my mom asked. The doctor replied, "Because her blood glucose was so high, she's in diabetic ketoacidosis,"

My heart beat faster and faster as I got more and more scared.

"We're going to stop at home and get your iPad and clothes and headphones," my mom told me calmly as I climbed into the car. How was she so calm!? I was just diagnosed with TYPE 1 DIABETES, for goodness' sake! Hot, burning tears seared the back of my eyelids, but I blinked them back. I could deal with feelings later. Right now I just needed to focus on what I had to do. Looking back on it, I should've known that it would cause a massive breakdown in a few weeks.

As we drove away, I had to force myself not to break down in tears. Dad was waiting for us outside, holding a Vera Bradley bag.

"Go to the bathroom really quick, Addison," he said. I walked into the house and turned left. As I washed my hands, I looked in the mirror.

I saw a girl with black hair and black eyes.

I saw a girl in school clothes.

I saw a girl different from everyone else.

I saw a girl, unsure of herself; not knowing what the world would throw at her next.

Thoughts crowded my head: What will Cora and Luke and Nathan think? What will everyone say? Does everyone else have to know? Why me?

"Addison? Where are you?" Mom yelled.

"Coming!" I responded weakly, and walked outside.

We drove in silence to the hospital.

"Where should we park?" my mom asked.

"I don't know," I responded, "that sign over there says ER, though," She drove to an open parking spot and stopped sharply. I jerked forward and the seatbelt cut into my shoulder. Wincing, I rubbed my shoulder and stepped out of the car.

We walked through the doors, where a blast of frigid air rushed into my face. I shivered, rubbing my arms as I leaned forward to get my temperature checked. The thermometer vibrated.

"Did something happen?" the lady asked.

"Um..." Mom said. "We went to the doctor's office earlier today because she was lethargic-"

"What does lethargic mean?" I whispered.

"Tired." she replied, giving me that mom death glare, then turned back to the lady. "The doctor checked her blood sugar and said we needed to come here because she was in diabetic ketoacidosis."

"You can go sit down and someone will come get you," the person at the front said. We sat down in two chairs. I leaned back in my chair and tried - not for the first time that day - to hold my tears back. My mom put her arm around me.

"It's going to be fine, you know," she whispered. "We still love you. God still loves you. You have friends that will do anything for you." Yeah, right, I thought. No seventh grader who wants to be remotely popular would be friends with a diabetic. Didn't we joke that diabetics were fat? I pulled away from my mom and curled up in my chair.

It only took five minutes for the nurse to bring us to a room through a set of double doors. I winced as I walked in - how old did they think I was? Five?

The door was decorated with Nemo and Dory stickers. Inside, the TV was blaring out the Team Umi-Zoomi theme song. It must've been getting on my mom's nerves, because she turned the channel to National Geographic's Shark Week. Not really much better; now, instead of three midgets, I could see sharks biting peoples' hands off. Fun.

I slipped my shoes off and climbed in the bed. Within three minutes the nurse came in with a needle.

"We're going to need an IV," she said in response to my frightened look.

Even though I closed my eyes, it still made me sick to see the tube sticking out of my arm. 

I was helpless. 

There was nothing I could do.