One of the features of my husband's life that neither of us was looking forward to was the routine required by insulin-dependent diabetes. He'd received the diagnosis when he went into the hospital.
It wasn't a huge surprise; he did weigh 334 pounds and was pretty sedentary and had an issue with food addiction. But neither of us were looking forward to that routine and the real worry was cost. Medicare might pay for testing supplies, but the insulin was our problem, and it was expensive. What would we do between the time he got out and when we got the disability?
I shoved this resolutely away; at that point, he was looking at open-heart surgery, and time enough to worry when they talked about sending him home.
Today he said to the nurse, "By the way, you haven't come in to check my blood sugar today."
"Why should I, they took you off the insulin."
We looked at his record of blood sugar readings. Normal range.
Today he weighs 279. You lose a lot of weight in a coma. Apparently losing 55 pounds reversed his diabetes. Or maybe his blood sugar was just spiking due to the cardiac event.
But he eats smaller portions these days, and my arms meet round him when I hug him. And I cried tears of relief as I realized one thing I was worried about was no more. All we have to do now is keep on keeping on, and we'll do that just fine.