As many of you have no doubt read (or heard), the last two days have been filled with much emotion at my house. Tears, laughter, anger, frustration, guilt, and finally acceptance have all stopped by and paid their respects while my wife and I have dealt with our youngest son being diagnosed as a type 1 diabetic. Ian is 12 1/2 years old, loves to play football and basketball, and is just beginning to figure out who and what he will be when he grows up. Now, he has to accept this 'life sentence' and deal with being a diabetic on top of everything else (at least until, hopefully, a cure is found).
I'd like to share a quick story and state that I know it's hardly possible, but I hope that someone in particular reads this. That someone is 'Robin', no last name (at least not that I ever knew) but someone who I've never forgotten. Robin was my charge nurse on the third floor at Manatee Memorial Hospital in January of 1981. I was 14 1/2 years old, a freshman at Manatee High School, and just diagnosed as a type 1 diabetic. They called us 'Juvenile Diabetic' back in those days, but the reality was much the same as the one my son Ian is facing now.
Robin entered my life at a time when I was scared. I was just coming to grips with new rules on what I could eat, when I could eat it, what to do if "this" happens or "that" happens. It's a lot for anyone to take in, ask anyone who has had to do it whether they are a parent or the actual patient. The one thing I couldn't bring myself to do was give myself an insulin injection. I've never been a fan of needles (still aren't) and the thought of doing it was not something I was willing to spend much time on. My doctor and other care givers pointed out that I needed to know how to do it so I could take care of myself, or I would be dependent on my mother or someone else to make sure I was taken care of.
One night, I was laying in my hospital bed in a room I shared with 2 elderly men who couldn't hear, didn't talk much and slept a lot. Not sure why I wasn't in pediatrics, but I wasn't. This nurse walks in with a silver tray in her hand, sets it down on the table by my bed and introduces herself. "Hi," she said. "My name is Robin, I'm your charge nurse." She sat down on the side of my bed and said that she'd heard I wasn't able to give myself a shot yet. I admitted to her that I was scared. On the silver tray were 2 syringes, each holding about 5 units of saline solution used for practice. She took one, handed it to me, and said "I want you to give the shot to me." She then presented her left arm to me and smiled. "It's okay, I trust you!"
That was 32 years ago and I can still hear her voice say that to me. "It's okay, I trust you!" I gave Robin the shot, she told me she didn't feel a thing! She then handed me the other syringe and encouraged me to try it again on myself. I did it! Folks, it's hard to explain the feelings I felt. I'd overcome a fear! I regained my freedom to take care of myself and be an individual all because of the extra kindness of one person who said she was a nurse, but I suspect was an angel!
Not the real kind of angel with the wings but one of the countless angels that go about their lives every day making a good impression on those around them with their deeds. Those people whose inate goodness keeps this world from completely tipping toward full on anarchy. Robin was such a person to me. She probably doesn't even remember that evening or remember me. I was just one of countless people she's most likely affected throughout her life and career.
Well, last night I was giving my son his insulin shot before dinner and when it came time to take mine, I handed him my syringe and I told him I wanted him to give it to me. I saw in his eyes what Robin must have seen in mine all those years ago. The words came out without me even realizing it. I said, "It's okay, I trust you!" He gave me my shot and was quite proud of himself! More importantly, he gave himself his first shot later that night and is now doing it all on his own! Thank you, Robin! The gift you gave me, I have paid forward and it felt really good.
I wish I knew your last name, I would track you down and send you a card or some flowers or something, but when I think about it I guess it occurs to me that people like you don't need anything like that. You probably don't need to be told what sort of effect you had because that's not why angels do the things that they do.
Sorry it's been so long since I blogged, I promise to write more soon. Until next time, this one is for the angels (and the nurses) for making this world a better place to be in and for putting happy tears in my eyes.
Take care,
David
