Welcome to The Verb!

When my son came home from film school (his holiday ran to the middle of January), I noticed he'd dropped some weight and developed a drinking problem. Every day I'd awake to find empty bottles everywhere. Milk, juices, sodas, water—you name it, he was killing it. He's always been a hearty milk drinker, the kind that makes one wish for a cow in the backyard, but this was way beyond his normal intake. So I did an intervention. "Son, what's with all the guzzling?"

He replied with five fateful words: "I'm thirsty all the time."

Bells and sirens went off. Flags went up. Neon signs containing the D word flashed before my eyes. With diabetics on both sides of the family, I knew extreme thirst was a common symptom. I called his doctor, made an appointment and proceeded to have a private heart attack when I saw his numbers on the glucose meter: 432!

While my son and I were trying to absorb what this high reading meant to him and the rest of his life, his doc and nurse were having heart attacks themselves. "I'm making you an appointment with an endocrinologist," he said. "You have to go now. Now!" He spoke with an urgency that made us walk fast, and then break into a run. Out of the way, people! Diabetic coming through!

We hopped in the car, drove about five miles to the endocrinologist's office and flew up to the fourth floor. There, the nurse pulled out a kit designed to get an average reading of Son's blood for the past two months. But Son's numbers were so high the machine coded out twice! It couldn't read them. Next stop, downstairs to the lab.

Before we could get to our feet, the doctor appeared at the door with a big smile on his face and a super pen thingy in his hand. He wasn't wearing a cape, and he certainly didn't resemble Mighty Mouse, but I could almost hear his theme song: Here he comes to save the day!

He pulled off the top of the super pen, which truly looked like a writing pen, and showed Son how to dial it up to the proper number and poke the thin needle into the fatty tissue of his stomach. But when you're 6'1, 160 lbs., finding fatty tissue is not an easy task. The doctor rejoiced when he did. "That's it! You just gave yourself your first insulin shot!" And in the blink of an eye, Son's life changed.

Now he's back in Chicago, with his insulin pens and glucose meter, and I'm sure the whole ordeal will wind up in one of his films. He feels so much better and says he's going to shoot himself in class, just to freak out his professors.

With his hectic schedule, his biggest adjustment will be to maintain a healthy diet. The dietician is invaluable, of course, but I'm of the opinion one can never have too many recipes. He lives in a cute little apartment with a cute little kitchen, and he likes to cook. So if you're a diabetic, or prepare food for one, and you have some easy, tasty diabetic recipes, I'd love to hear from you.

And if you ever suffer from extreme thirst, please don't ignore it. See your doctor soon as you can. 

On another note, we have a winner in our Flash Fiction Contest! Congratulations go to Donna Turello, from Staten Island! Her entry is on page 5 in this issue. As always, complete contest results are posted in the Contest Café. Good stuff all around. You guys are making the job of judging more and more difficult. I love it!

Elizabeth Guy    
Editor    

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This issue 
was published 
under the musical 
influence of...


Linda Ronstadt &
Nelson Riddle Orchestra
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