The Diagnosis

This room is brightly lit
But devoid of hope;
My skin no longer fits,
No more can I cope.

Tight-eyed the doctor comes;
The clock ticks, he talks.
My thoughts fall away, numb;
Tears swell and then balk.

Now loved ones embrace me;
I shake like a leaf,
Eyes blur, I cannot see.
In me is a thief.

My mind is grasping at random thoughts, flittering from fear to distraction. Twenty-seven: that’s a pretty good age to reach without having to pee in a cup; too bad I couldn‘t make it to twenty-eight. Sue, my sister, is trying to hide her tears - I wonder how she’ll break this to Mom. I know I would have no idea how to do it.

My girlfriend Katherine hugs me tight and I remember five days previous, our six month anniversary. Still so early in our relationship, too early for something like this.

“I’ll call Mount Saint Joseph’s to let them know you’re on your way,” the doctor says. I’ve forgotten his name already. “They’ll check you in, probably keep you for a few days.”

We stop at home to collect some clothing. I’ll remember afterwards that I didn’t think to grab any spare underwear and will have to send Katherine to dig through my dresser to find the least ratty pairs. But that will come later.

I step through the emergency room sliding doors and my eyes are greeted with a gathering of old people, frail people. Sick people. I do not belong here.

“Hi, the walk-in clinic called ahead to say that I’d be coming,” I tell the nurse through the speaker in the protective glass. Katherine squeezes my hand and I try to smile for her.

“Oh right, you’re the guy with diabetes?”

Yeah, I guess that’s me now. I’m the guy with diabetes.

The End

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