The doctor bobbed his head. “Well, yes, you’re correct. I wanted to see if Mr Slater has diabetes.”
“And?” Dominic pressed.
“And my theory was correct,” the doctor said, then looked at me. “Ye’ do indeed have diabetes, Mr. Slater. Type one to be exact.”
Of all things I was expecting the doctor say, that wasn’t one of them.
“Are you sure?” I quizzed. “I mean, my blood could have been tainted in the lab, right?”
The doctor nodded. “That is a possibility, but I had the tests done three times for confirmation, and nothin’ changed. The result was the same all three times. You’re a diabetic, Mr Slater.”
Well, fuck.
“I’m a diabetic?” I repeated to myself.
The room was quiet again, but not for long because Aideen had a few questions that she wanted to be answered.
“Type one is the one that requires insulin, right?”
The doctor looked at her, and said, “Yes, that is the very one.”
Aideen tilted her head to the side. “Isn’t that a children’s disease, though?”
“Normally.” The doctor bobbed his head. “It was dubbed with the name juvenile diabetes because it’s most commonly diagnosed in children, teenagers, or young adults. It can occur at any age, though.”
Aideen blinked. “Oh, I see.”
“I don’t understand,” I interrupted. “Wouldn’t I have known if I was diabetic? I mean, I would have had some signs, right?”
No one just suddenly become diabetic.
“Your brothers mentioned to the nurses last night about your extreme fatigue, weight loss, vomitin’, and so on over the past twelve months. It is very easy to look at these symptoms as a case of influenza, a vomitin’ bug, or even a simple head cold,” the doctor explained. “There are many different symptoms for type one diabetes. Some people suffer from all of them, and others have no signs at all. It varies from person to person.”
That shut me up.
“Your body is a special case, Kane. With a lot of people, the symptoms can start like the click of my fingers, and things can progress quickly. Then there are cases like yours where people can be ill for a long period of time but not need treatment straight away. Your body managed to get by with what little insulin it produced for the past year, but the strain has started to show, and it’s not enough anymore. Your collapsin’ last night is a prime example of that. Your body needs more insulin to survive than what it’s currently producin’.”
My stomach felt sick, and my mind raced.
“The bad news about type one diabetes is that there is no cure for it. Ye’ll have it for the rest of your life. The good news is that it is manageable. Ye’ll need to take a daily injection of insulin, startin’ today. You’ll have a standard daily dose, and it can be adjusted dependin’ on your sugar level. While ye’ were sleepin’ earlier, we sampled your blood sugar level, so it will be a low dose today as you’re not actively movin’, or consumin’ a lot of calories. That is the trick with your injections. The more active ye’ are or the more calories ye’ consume, the higher your dose needs to be. Don’t worry about that right now, though. We will develop a scale.”
The doctor went on as a nurse opened the door and wheeled in a trolley with a yellow bucket and other medical equipment on a large tray.
“Weekly appointments and check-ups at your local medical clinic will be set up until ye’ have a handle on your doses. It will become routine for ye’, and I doubt it will be difficult for ye’ to get a grasp of. Ye’ look like a man who knows about diet and exercise. Ye’ll just have to follow a new program to balance your body’s glucose level. Does that make sense?”
It made sense, but at the same time, I had no clue what the hell was going on. My eyes moved to the tray the nurse brought in, and my body went tense when I saw what looked like to be a needle.
“What’s that?”
“Your first insulin dose,” the doctor replied. “I’ll prescribe an insulin pen just because they are more convenient than dealin’ with a separate needle and bottle of insulin.”
Fear washed over me like a cold shower, causing me to jolt upright in the bed.
“You are not sticking a needle in me.”
The doctor jumped a little, startled at my shout, and he looked at my brothers for a moment before returning his eyes to mine.
“Your insulin must be injected under the skin, Mr Slater. It cannot be taken orally because the acids in your stomach will destroy it.”
No. No. No.
I frantically shook my head. “I don’t care; you’re not sticking a needle in me. I don’t give a fuck.”
“Shit,” Ryder said from my right. “Kane, you need this medication, or you don’t get better. Period. You have to take it.”