A Sincere Tale

A Sincere Tale

I wish to be perfectly candid. For some time I have felt the need to share this story with others. This is a tale about an agreeable man, humbled by life’s events, who continues to live under no illusions or pretenses. Once this person came into being, his ordinary, modern-day life began with many advantages provided by the greatest democracy our civilization had the courage and fortitude to construct. All other substantial mortal accomplishments pale in comparison to the miracle of birth and the mystery of life that thrives all around us.  Yet, this frequent human event is viewed with complacency or cynicism. This gift of human existence can appear so trite or common when compared to the sheer size of our planet’s escalating population and expansion beyond our finite resources. As with most tales, there is a moral to this story. Let me take you through this journey and share in the discovery I made from this man’s life.

Life’s pain or struggle or worldly suffering should never weaken any person’s spiritual being as he or she lives this human experience. The capacity to learn and grow in personal knowledge is a well kept treasure often understood too late in life. The subject of our story became part of the Universe, sharing as many atoms several times beyond his capacity to fathom, connected as one with his creator, each and every minute of his living existence, adding to the material and corporeal architecture that remains to be viewed post mortem. Accept these concepts as a given and the story of our young man will cause no tears to be shed, neutralize any empathy, nullify any sympathy. The silent disease that plagues this young man does not affect the soul. He asks for no pity. All he agrees to do is share with you, in a few simple words, what his horrific destroyer of human flesh and blood cannot do and what it can do to enhance the human spirit.

Our earnest tale begins. We find ourselves in the early 1950’s in America, booming with babies. A former US Naval Seaman First Class-Gunner on the destroyer, USS Nicholas, and survivor of the WWII Pacific theatre joined in wedlock with a Nela Park GE assembly worker transplanted to a thriving northeast Ohio community from the coal mining veins that run deep throughout the southwestern Pennsylvania Appalachia region. It was the union of two unique human genome1 carriers. It was beyond scientific prediction to foretell the likelihood that their second of seven siblings would someday evolve into the only middle aged full blown type 2 adult male diabetic offspring. Conceived from two Caucasian American families of Eastern European and Northern Anglo-Saxon descent, the paternal side of this union contributed five key genetic markers2.

To the unsuspecting, under-educated general populace, America’s quiet killer remained comfortably dormant as if it were a sleeper cell, waiting to awaken in the secret medical archives triggered by unknown combinations of nutrition, lifestyle and health regimens going off as a fire alarm soon after the horse had already escaped the burning barn. Soon the alarm became deafening as the victims would number in double digit multi-million levels throughout our remarkably unhealthy society, nearly twenty-eight million have become confirmed members of this community and over five million do not even know that they also belong. The American pandemic continues.

In retrospect, we can contend that second helpings of farm bred Thanksgiving turkey with extra servings of homemade stuffing and Grandma’s secret gravy recipe, preceded by one or two generous Makers Mark manhattans followed by hours of watching grown men in Detroit Lions jerseys knocking their opponents down on snow covered clumps of muddy grass divots contributed to the onset of this merciless plague. Take a deep breath as we continue. After all, this was merely another American annual event centered by excessive meals and gluttonous rituals throughout the sixties and seventies.

High priced Color Television sets were first introduced in the United States in the mid sixties, and did not become a household staple until merging into the seventies, just around the time that most of us viewed, in living color, Broadway Joe’s 1969 bold prediction that his NY Jets would defeat Don Shula’s Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III. Many hours in front of the tube were just not an attractive option to active lifestyles. Major League Baseball was much more attractive as a listening event on the radio than viewed in Black & White on the living room television set.

We were advised that the tryptophan3 and bad television caused the afternoon Thanksgiving Day snoozing. Sleep apnea had yet to be discovered. In order to compensate for the excesses, later in the day, weather permitting, a toss of the pigskin in the leaf-covered backyard offered just enough play to loosen one belt notch. This allowed for the evening turkey sandwiches on enriched wheat bread smothered in a generous spread of cholesterol-enhanced mayonnaise and MSG disguised lettuce followed by mom’s homemade pumpkin pie covered in whipped cream certain to clog every artery near the heart.

A few decades of this tradition could do little harm or permanent damage as our society prepared for the winter months’ hibernation mode. Every season throughout the year seemed to feature similar American traditions, milestones marked by national holidays of plentiful feasts and day long family cheer over three or four day weekends. County Fairs with their Midways full of games and foods, Ferris Wheels and Giant Roller Coaster rides accessible only by long walks along the boardwalk immersed in the smells and aroma of roasted meats, deep fried sides and fresh squeezed lemonade stands filled the seasons wedged between Memorial and Labor Days.

The eighties saw an awakening to physical fitness and preventive medicine. Past sins would require serious penance. Even the tempo of contemporary music in this decade required a healthy, hearty choreography. Soon our young man began serving a small round yellow sphere over a canvas net strung across a clay court using a taut, string racket until the cartilage in the knees began to deteriorate. Then full half days of four hours or more were spent slicing an even smaller white dimpled orb while ruining a good long walk to the nineteenth hole.

Eventually, as friends and fellow players lost interest in active sports due to the crippling side effects, the health regimen led to weekly jogging routines of a few miles at the local public park over two or three alternate routes. Even imaginary spectacular basketball moves on abandoned courts provided a few moments of sweat and aerobic exercise to compensate for hours sitting in front of the television watching College Basketball and NCAA March Madness. Better definition Color Television and broadcast content had arrived. The neurons of the human brain had begun to experience the hypnotic effect and sweet taste of the future and there was no turning back.

The rewards to celebrate the few physical feats included a couple of ice-cold frosty adult beverages: tall lagers and deep fried finger foods became contributing factors to our recently-wed white male’s unsupervised diet. A few months of this high carbohydrate routine, interspersed with quarterly week-long overseas business trips, could certainly do no harm to our seemingly invincible young road warrior. As an absentee father sharing in the parenting of two beautiful young daughters, the annual family get-a-ways became a race to see all the States in the US with mom and mom-in-law. How else to spend those frequent flyer miles? 

Extra doses of the salt shaker generously applied to the bland overseas foods forced on our weary world traveler were followed by extra useless calories of pure refined sugar and high carbohydrate snacks inhaled at airports and during eight to nine hour flights that seemed to create an imbalance in one’s body fluids and impair one’s liver function, causing high blood pressure, threatening severe heart failure or developing chronic kidney disease. It was not commonly known that a low salt diet4 could improve the odds for a healthier longer life. Speaking of kidneys, did those long hours of solving the world’s problems over a few liters of single malt scotch challenge the renal system or better yet, did a few Caribbean cigars taken in long deep breaths enrich the body’s pulmonary oxygen capacity? The likely answer is no.

The first signs of eminent health danger appeared in 1985. It was then, while installing dining room wallpaper for the brother-in-law that matters took a turn for the worse with the inconvenient twist of the razor knife over knuckle and flesh caused by a sudden, reflexive move by the left hand. The emergency triage prescribed several stitches. It was the follow up visit to the attending physician’s office two weeks later for the removal of the stitches where it became clear that high blood pressure concerns would haunt our thirty-three year young man forever. Lipids, triglycerides and good and bad cholesterol were now added to his daily vocabulary. Glucose had yet to rear its ugly head.

On the surface, regular physical exercise continued as an active, conscious effort. The Atkins’s high protein diet reduced the love handles and the suits’ slacks were taken in two belt sizes. The incident served as a wake-up call to get back in physical shape, update the hair style and search for a better paying, more promising career move. All three were accomplished.

This story would be incomplete without mentioning the fact that our young man’s sober and ‘dry’ father, a thirty five year charter member of Cleveland’s Alcoholics Anonymous, had spent his last eight months strapped to an artificial kidney contraption while being moved twice to have both his lower extremities lopped off below the knee by the Veterans Hospital’s best vascular surgeon. Such trauma impacted the number one son’s mental disposition, possibly affecting a psychosomatic health stigma eventually leading to a self-fulfilling prophecy. At the young age of sixty-two the head of the clan wills himself to permanent sleep. The second generation of this immigrant American family has had enough pain for this lifetime. When faced with his third amputation, he tells his sons and daughters or anyone else who would listen, enough…’God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…’5.

As the mid-section Buddha slowly appears at the waistline on number one son so do the concerns for that unspeakable five letter word, sugar, begin to surface with regular check-ups. Too many of another five letter word, ‘carbs,’ without the injection of insulin, despite Dr. Atkin’s low carbohydrate regimen, begin to damage the blood vessels while key cell communicators forget how to convert energy to the cells from absorbed foods leaving high levels of glucose in the blood stream. Cuts and scrapes heal more slowly, the heart labors a bit more, the renal system is strained and breathing becomes more of an effort. Unknowingly, the blood vessels in the eyes start to rupture causing blurred vision. Sleep apnea begins; just ask the bride as the dog refuses to sleep at the end of the bed due to the thunderous sounds.

So what does this nasty disease we call diabetes do next? It picks on the weakest systems in the body and starts to do even more damage. The involuntary nerves in the torso get damaged creating a condition known as peripheral neuropathy, painful and practically irreversible. Four Neurologists in five years offer no cure. Pain medications merely mask the symptoms. This is followed by arterial neuropathy in the lower legs caused by poor blood circulation. This leads to no major blood routes, or arteries, to the left foot from the knee down, cutting off oxygen and all sensitivity to the toes. Imagine that school yard bully relentlessly hammering his taunts at you in your weakest moments through no fault of yours. Unfair as it seems, there is no letting up.

While these health issues start to appear, Murphy’s Law immediately kicks into high gear. “It’s the economy, stupid” bumper stickers indicate the condition of the job market in NE Ohio as the twentieth century winds down. NAFTA is in play, job cutbacks, the Internet bubble bursts and white collar layoffs riddle the Midwest. The rust belt continues to oxidize. Having spent over thirty years associated with decorative residential and commercial home fashion products and media publishing, primarily associated with all aspects of electronic, digital and direct printing techniques, the home interiors market contracts.

Our man’s business credentials led to his next exciting and rewarding challenge spearheading a valiant turnaround effort with an Internet and publishing directory located in the west coast area of central Florida. This exhaustive stint ended a few months shy of our nation’s greatest terrorist’s attack and our man’s loss of his most ardent cheerleader, his dear mother. This seventy-two year old angel passed away quietly in her sleep having prepared her children as best she could for many of life’s ups and downs. The return to the north shore of the US thus began the not-so-professional career of our man’s newly licensed door-to-door insurance salesman career. Lemons to lemonade began to sour.

Six months later, unemployed yet again, but ever the survivor and provider, our protagonist acts decisively. He takes on a full-time warehouse manager’s position at K-Mart and a part-time thirty hour retail sales position at nearby Kohl’s Department Store. Neither company offers any adequate, affordable medical coverage, yet both offer challenging people skill set opportunities that are rewarding and gratifying. Both positions begin in the fall and continue through the Christmas Holidays. Both positions demand hours on concrete floors and miles of walking to respond to the supervisors’ every command. The lower leg neuropathy soon goes undetected except for the occasional midnight leg cramps in both shins. Tighter than over-wound, single prop, rubber band powered balsa wooden airplanes, the tightening cramps re-define excruciating pain, the dog eventually moves out of the bedroom at nightfall as the screams intensify.

The lack of blood circulation and foot numbness make twenty pound wooden pallets seem lightweight and undetectable when they fall on the great toe at the end of the ball of the foot. On January 3rd of ’03 the wooden pallet comes crashing down on the left foot. Our young man has not taken his oral diabetes medication, Metformin® in over twelve months. Doctor visits are put on the back burner. The glucose readings are in the high 400’s or low 500’s. When the great toe turns gangrene then shifts to charcoal black it’s time to abandon ballet. By the following month, needless to report, the great toe on the left foot is amputated the first week of February.

The next job as Product Manager at a west side Cleveland printing facility started two weeks later. The common thread, a knowledge of print and Internet functions, leads to its application and skill set in a smaller cottage or niche industry. After ten months of changing the wound dressings on the left foot morning, noon and night the second toe joins the great toe in tap dancing heaven. It seemed as if one rotten apple spoiled the basket. The left foot now resembles the antiquated golf club known as the ‘mashie’ or a clumsy looking three wood. The foot looks fine when shoes are worn but dare not go for a mid-day dip in the pool for fear that your new knick name is dubbed ‘clumsy.’ Weekend trade shows and west coast flights to spectacular Seattle, WA for ten day quarterly visits offer well appreciated diversions while providing physical challenges including the art of walking with poise and a measured gait using a metal shoe insert. 

For the most part, health insurance results in better preventative medical care in the US. This is true for the majority of Americans, less the forty plus million or so without any coverage. Better health allows for better recreational pursuits. Golf traditionally suits an older, more affluent group where the pace is more evenly distributed, golf carts are the option and the nineteenth hole turns into a social or business event. Our middle aged man’s golf game can be enjoyable despite the awkward follow through stroke that could nearly topple the player backward after every restrained tee shot. The golf game can be adjusted to the handicap. Equally, there is a comfort level as a business professional settles into a new position within a new industry. Eventually, activity can be moved up a notch. Stress, typically self-induced, can start to take its toll as deadlines increase and sales targets become more challenging. All the recreational games in the world cannot compensate for a contracting, more competitive business environment. Slowly the clock continues to click away any future work credits that may have been earned.

We now fast forward three years into our middle aged man’s career. It is March of ’06, when out of nowhere, while pumping gasoline on the way into the office, there is a sudden unexpected collapse just as the nozzle is placed back into the pump. Two strangers come to rescue our man and help return him to the driver’s seat. The trip to the office is aborted and the return home is safe and uneventful. Thank goodness for a wife with common sense to make a case for a visit to the emergency room. A week later the nurses in the Cardiac Care Unit of Hillcrest Hospital bid him farewell. A diabetic heart attack was the prognosis. Complications from childhood anemia were the major contributing factor. Oxygen levels were fourteen percent below the level required for the kidneys and heart to function properly and efficiently. The Cardiologist was Dr. Mark Angel. How appropriate.

Now it’s baby aspirin, Plavix®, a diuretic, a statin, beta blocker and two daily doses of Human insulin that are the prescribed daily remedies sure to keep him alive and well for the next twenty-five years, give or take the loss of health coverage every now and then. Should this happen, it’s back to plan B, as in begging for coins at a downtown corner, just blocks away from the Cleveland Clinic or University Hospitals. Ironically, being located in one of the nation’s most highly regarded centers for medical care and research is a non-factor without affordable health insurance. Thankfully, the remainder of 2006 is uneventful as if a serious heart attack were not enough for one year. Medical Mutual is the corporation’s health provider until year-end.

This writer would be remiss not to take an editorial time out to cite, at this timely point in our tale, one of life’s fundamental axioms no better stated than by Joni Mitchell in her 1970 folk rock release of Big Yellow Taxi: “That you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” A similar version of this axiom is the power ballad written and performed by the flamboyant looking Glam metal band, Cinderella, from their second album released in 1988; their song can also be heard on the 2008 film, the Oscar nominated, The Wrestler.

Having a reasonable standard of health coverage in this great democracy is often taken for granted by most Americans who have such insurance. This sensitive social issue has been buried in the sand for as long as it can be avoided. It has come to the fore and now sits in the hands of Congressional committees. Our subject of this story had been fortunate through most of his professional career. Yet, as has just been shown, without proper coverage the health of a citizen can and will be placed in jeopardy. A disease such as Diabetes does not wait for the proper medical credentials; it does not have the option to take a time out.

Part of the equation for a sound health system is sharing the responsibility for good preventive care as well as sharing in the necessary regimen required to overcome or control certain ailments. Living a healthy life is serious business. Who else knows more about the individual’s own body than that particular person? The doctor-patient relationship requires honesty and trust. Knowing the body’s basic specifications, properly prescribed medications and consistent communications through regular check-ups can help anticipate possible indicators of illness or avoid potential long term disabling health issues. It results in better care and reduces costly or unnecessary procedures. Diabetes sufferers know this on a daily basis; they live it.

The following year brings with it a new health care provider, Kaiser Permanente. Seven different doctors need to be replaced, get acclimated and go through the chemistry test for compatibility. This takes time. The last to be found is the podiatrist. The former six week regular visits to assure the proper care of all eight remaining toes get interrupted. Foot inspection, particularly the left foot, continues with the daily application of foot cream and prescribed oil resins. All appears right with the world. The dry winter skin eventually results in a small crack at the very bottom backside of the right heel where the callous is thickest. Extra cream is regularly applied.

Soon there appears a sliver of a crack that starts to break the new skin and precious blood flows out. For two weeks Neosporin® antiseptic salve and gauze dressing are taped in the morning and after a long day of work. The open sore widens and there is no sign of healing. A first appointment is made with the Kaiser primary care physician for the last week of March ’07. His associate fills in for him on Mondays. She looks at the wound, notes the pain and discomfort and orders a chest x-ray and an MRI of the ankle.

As an afterthought, without even changing the dressing on the heel, she schedules an appointment with a Kaiser podiatrist for the next immediate Wednesday at the Parma, Ohio main campus facility. The new podiatrist takes one look at the heel and advises our man that unless he immediately operates to remove the spreading infection, the foot will need to be amputated. Our hero stares in total disbelief as if this were some cruel sick prank being played on an irresponsible patient who let a small, incidental cut go too long without professional dressing or care.

Surgery is scheduled for the first week in April. The entire right heel is sliced off, a week is spent in the hospital and in-home hospice is scheduled to begin Easter Sunday. It is one of the worst winter snow storms to have ever fallen on this sacred holiday in NE Ohio. The nurse is needed to tend to the wound vacuum6 that was applied to the open wound. Such a device helps the body re-grow the necessary epidermal tissues and minimize any occurrence of infection spreading through the wound to the bone marrow.

There was little holiday cheer or mid-day Easter dinner celebration. Most of the family was unable to negotiate the dangerous ice-covered roads. Our visiting nurse arrived early afternoon. Every day began and every night ended with the positive hope that the wound would soon close and heal, and a return to normalcy was just down the road.

Thus began eleven weeks of isolation in the same back bedroom. Each week three different nurses would visit to change the dressing and re-apply the wound vacuum. Practically three times per day the IV drip would be administered by our man’s life-long companion. Once, when a hospice nurse was unavailable, the horrendous task of removing and replacing the wound vacuum was delegated to the loyal wife; she still has nightmares and shakes her head in repulsion to the thought. Every Thursday, our patient’s bride would load him into her pickup truck, toss his crutches in the flat bed and drive across town to see the podiatrist. There were occasions when she considered tossing him in the tailgate and leaving the crutches in the cab since they made better conversation. A second surgery was needed to remove any possible bone infection by scraping. A third surgery was needed to remove broken bone in the Achilles heel.

During a routine visit there appeared a darkened area along the ankle bone. An x-ray and MRI were inconclusive. A biopsy was ordered. Following a sleepless weekend, the ten o’clock Monday morning call to the podiatrist provided the news no one wanted to hear. Unless the leg was amputated soon, within three or four weeks, life will cease, the infection will overtake the body’s bone marrow. It will be ‘pushing daisies’ or life in an urn over the fireplace mantle.

Nothing can prepare a patient for an amputation. You cannot just shut your eyes real tight and imagine being without one of your legs. The decision is a non-decision. Even though the past few years of poor leg circulation should have prepared anyone for such a prognosis, it still stuns. It helps considerably to have one of the best, brightest vascular surgeons in the area at your side. There is such an overwhelming need to be surrounded with those you love and trust. Our man’s dearly departed mom continued to be his guardian angel. She always knew humor to be the best elixir. A supportive family, a trusted doctor and a determined focus on a positive outcome are the essential factors that keep the human spirit equal to the challenges that must be faced.

The days immediately following our man’s fifty-fifth birthday a two step process unfolded. The first cut was made just above the right ankle. Three days later, the second more precise surgery severed the leg six inches below the knee. After awakening under the grogginess of morphine and a nauseous grip in the pit of the stomach, any discomfort became barely tolerable. The tugging of the urinary catheter is a minor inconvenience. It is the god-awful emptiness where the right leg should be that brings a frozen stare across the face. There are no mirrors to capture the look reminiscent of the Norwegian Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream.’7

The first few days are one long nightmare. Hallucination becomes a therapeutic escape. One week is inadequate to prepare to join the rest of sane society via the rehabilitation center. No one realizes that rehab can be more difficult than living any nightmare. This is particularly true if your rehab roommate is the most anti-social, taciturn human being you have ever met. Imagine him covering himself with a sheet every time a visitor entered your room. He had no visitors. On the bright side, one becomes driven and determined to escape as soon as the guards turn their backs as he used to kid his nurses. If you eat all three meals each day and attend therapy without fail, you can get home in no time; send the food back and your substitute could be a cold grilled cheese sandwich, a limp dill pickle and a warm container of ginger ale. He always ate his meals. Our man learned the importance of self-discipline while remaining focused on the therapy as he imagined walking smoothly and effortlessly. Each exercise held purpose, the means to returning to an active life; it required a constant, conscious state of being in the present.

Several critical events must occur during rehab. These mostly require above adequate staff and professional competence. Foremost, the selection of the proper prosthesis becomes a joint engagement between the patient and the rehab therapists, physical and occupational. Trust in each other’s judgment is essential. All follow up appointments and home care mobility plans must be set. Taking the time to become self-educated about the healing process, the dynamics of artificial technologies and pushing the physical limits of rehabilitation all provide the necessary distractions needed to nap a little in the late evening hours as the empty halls echo screams and moans from a few patients, some with dementia and a few with Alzheimer’s disease lying in their own excrement through the night until the nurses service each patient’s needs. Making believe that the nurses are pretty, the doctors are competent and the food is palatable can also be helpful [humor]. Bingo social hours are fun. Sudoku puzzles maintain sanity and mental acuity.

A few days before Saturday departure from Health Care, an Epiphany8 took place that truly introduced our patient to the ‘now’9 or real experience of truly being. Human essence is not a concept easily grasped without some deep thinking. The gentle feel of fresh air and the warmth of the sun’s rays on the skin had been absent from our man’s life for essentially months. It was a temperate 4th of July and the only visitor that Wednesday was our hero’s younger brother, Joe. All others, the immediate family included, were at a major horse show.

After the visitor departed, our man struggled into his wheelchair and headed down the hall to the elevator. He was filled with joy. He passed through the automatic front doors and within seconds he was rolling along concrete and pavement. It was a cool 65 degrees, a few scattered cumulus clouds airbrushed the sky and the deep blue of the heavens took him there so rapidly it was as if he were time traveling as the soaring eagle glides.

He could feel every other soul in the universe. He lay back in his chair as far as it would recline and he sat there for more than an hour. He lost all concept of time. The experience reminded him of the hours of meditation he had enjoyed during his six years in the seminary. He had forgotten how profound his being felt stripped of all mental clutter. All pain and suffering held no place in his world.

He reached out for the essence of as many souls as he could possibly touch: his doctors, his bride, his children, his siblings, his friends and neighbors, those whom he considered good friends that he was blessed with meeting over his career, his close animal friends from the Quarter Horse to the family Weimaraner. He was unable to express his awareness in mere words or prayer. Words are weak inventions of the mind that are more significantly signposts leading to clearer images of thoughts and ideas. He felt re-charged, prepared to live as a spiritual being having a human experience, unafraid to step beyond the boundaries of human limitations.

Our man’s life had new meaning. He may have lost a good ten to fifteen pounds from the right side of his body, yet, he felt complete. He became anxious to strap on his prosthetic leg and not skip a beat. The first chore he wished to check off his “to do “list was to clean his golf clubs. This would be followed by a trip to the driving range to empty a bucket of balls. Of course, one of his buddies would have to drive him until he re-acclimated to driving an automobile again. The final fit for his new leg was August 3rd, in a mere three weeks, August 27th, he would be back at the office. He felt obligated to his firm for their being loyal to him. He could only return the favor.

The gift of a new leg, free of all the toxins and poisons caused by the infection in his right heel, provided our man his mobility, choice and self esteem. There would be nothing that he could not do. He wished to shout his joy to all those who had yet to experience what such a gift could do to alter one’s value system. He wished to tell everybody how selfless and caring his support team had been to him. His wife became his angel of mercy, his doctors became his heroes and his prosthetic technicians and clinical support team became incredibly gifted, dedicated rescuers.

The Epiphany experienced on July 4th of 2007 became a way of life. Every tree, flower or thing, organic or inorganic, natural or man-made, emanated a glow of light or energy that touched one’s being. The power from this glow seemed to be converted into the human soul as it spread through the miracle of the human body. It became a natural healing element that would do its very best to battle the negative forces of such an adult onset disease.

A man’s plight can become his salvation. Each daily event strengthens human awareness or consciousness. Once the mind and random thoughts are pushed aside we can focus on our being or essence in its purest form. Everything is connected, nothing is coincidental. Honest belief in one’s own being can result in a fast track response making a walk with a man-made leg possible. This belief in oneself is grounded in the belief in an ultimate power. That is the source for all life.

A good, decent man cannot let diabetes get control. The human spirit is remarkably resilient. Our silent killer understands this at the cellular level. It lurks in the shadows waiting its turn. It can never win. We can breathe a smile of acceptance at this disease. This truthful, honest story continues its never-ending plot.

There is an irony to this adult onset disease. For whatever reason or reasons, this man’s body had broken down at the cellular level: unable to make enough or sufficiently use insulin, each cell becomes unable to absorb the energy or radiant emanation from the food glucose thus starving the cells while overloading the blood with sugar glucose. It was as if the reflective forces of nature’s energy were not being transmitted to the hungry, empty cells. The signals were not getting through thus creating a destructive impact on each essential body system, especially the weaker links connected by the nerve and blood systems.

In society today there seems to be a subtle indictment concerning Diabetes victims, particularly Type 2 patients. The case can be made that their situation was caused by lack of sound dietetic practices, sparse physical exercise or improper preventive medical care. The diabetic stereotype or profile is that of an overweight or obese pre-teen or young adult consuming large amounts of trans fat enriched, high cholesterol fast foods topped off by high sugar content snacks while text messaging, playing video games or being mesmerized by big-screen HD digital television and likely to be of African-American or Spanish descent.

It should be noted that the average US citizen, during his or her adult life, uses merely 10% of their brain. This is evidenced by such stereotypical profiling or ignorance. More inquisitive minds need to Google® or Yahoo® accredited sources when totally uninformed about subjects as impactful as this modern day killer. It is not a bad idea to question what you see on the media, read in a newspaper, blog on the Internet or hear on the radio from overpaid mind altering, self-anointed talking heads. The alternative is complacency or as Seth MacFarlane’s promotional ad for Hulu® states: “…turn your gray matter into goo matter.” Expanding beyond the 10% usage factor is a matter of choice; intelligence is an acquired taste, ignorance is bliss.

There is a certain amount of condescension applied to this debilitating disease when public discussion is given to the hope for any cure. Why should the majority of healthy Americans care about big, fat, lazy, unmotivated ethnic Americans? This spawns many rhetorical questions. Simply answered, there are a few million of our fellow citizens who need help and guidance and empathy when confronted with this indiscriminant disease. It requires a human resistance of equal force and determination. On a more basic, fundamental level it requires civility and human compassion.

The character in this tale was from none of the common health risk categories: always physically active, occasionally a few pounds overweight, a non-smoker, mild social drinker, eager to participate in competitive sport activities and acclimated to a healthy, well balanced nutritional regimen. Only when health insurance lapsed due to lack of employment did the twice a year A1C hemoglobin tests get omitted from the calendar. These all important average glucose readings should not exceed the magic number, 7.5% as assigned by the American Diabetes Association. The patient’s endocrinologist usually hyperventilates at any elevated readings, thus justifying his reason d’être. Most critics are unable to spell or pronounce endocrinologist.

Essentially a victim of genetic factors, our subject diabetic never let his symptoms or setbacks gain control, adhering to daily sugar blood sampling disciplines. Acceptance of the disease led to the acceptance of any physical flaws or health setbacks. He took a stoic approach to his pain and his limited lifestyle. He had the survival instincts of the infamous Black Knight battling King Arthur in Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) 10. Handily defeated by Arthur, the Black Knight loses all four limbs yet keeps his wit, survives the extreme loss of blood and remains defiant until the end, challenging the departing King: “All Right – we’ll call it a draw.”

Life can never result in a draw. There will always be something to be gained, improved or changed. Every breath brings about an ever so small an impact to the ecosystem where the reverberating echo can reach deafening levels.

Every form of energy exchange alters our world. Imagine how much of an impression one life can have on the universe: the explosive fission of atoms expanding at the cellular level bringing about the miracle of life with the power of ten exploding suns in every embryo. Every child reflects the light and radiance that he or she brings to a parent’s smile, gleaned from the first swaddling image. Each child reciprocates the energy derived from the parents.

Our offspring are the jewels of our reality, some can be flawed and some will dull their shine in this human existence. Yet, each one’s soul will shine brightly for as long as they wish. The diabetic knows this no matter the physical outcome. There are no coincidences, no random acts of being. There is a purpose to life, a moral to this story: Live life and love it one moment at a time. Cherish the now.





Notes:

1.] – Genetics: a full set of chromosomes; all the inheritable traits of an organism.

2.] – A genetic marker is a known DNA sequence. It can be described as a variation, which may arise due to mutation or alteration in the genomic loci, en.wikipedia.org.

3.] – Tryptophan (abbreviated as Typ or W) is one of twenty standard amino acids, as well as an essential amino acid in the human diet. en.wikipedia.org.

4.] – Low Salt Diet: The purpose: Sodium controlled diets are designed to avoid excessive sodium retention. en.dietsite.com

5.] – The Serenity Prayer is the common name for an originally untitled prayer written by the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr in the 1930s or early 1940s. The prayer became widely known when it was adopted in modified form by Alcoholics Anonymous: Grapevine, The International Journal of Alcoholics Anonymous, identified Niebuhr as the author (January 1950, pp. 6 – 7).

6.] – How V.A.C. ® Therapy Works: KCI has revolutionized advanced wound care with the development of Negative Pressure Wound Therapy (NPWT). Utilizing multiple mechanisms of action, V.A.C. Therapy removes fluids and infectious materials, helps protect the wound environment, helps promote perfusion and a moist healing environment and helps draw together wound edges.

7.] – The Scream (Skrik. 1893) is a seminal series of expressionist paintings by Norwegian artist Edvard Munch, depicting an agonized figure against a blood red skyline. It is said by some to symbolize the human species overwhelmed by an attack of existential angst.

8.] – Epiphany [feeling], the sudden realization or comprehension of the essence or meaning of something.

9.] – The Power of Now (September 1999): a guide to spiritual enlightenment by Eckhart Tolle, a research scholar, counselor and spiritual leader, who has devoted his life to understanding, integrating and deepening the intense transformation of an inward personal journey. New World Library Novato, CA

10] – Monty Python and the Holy Grail is a 1975 film written and performed by the comedy group Monty Python (Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones, and Michael Palin) and directed by Gilliam and Jones. It was conceived during a gap between the third and fourth seasons of their popular BBC television series Monty Python’s Flying Circus. en.wikipedia.org.