But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bad EKG, Prediction of Future Hospitalization My day started out as usual. My mom and brother were screaming at each other and somehow the conversation drifted over to what a loser "That Bitch" is. I decided to pretend I was asleep. I lay in bed awake for three hours, just staring at the ceiling. I was diagnosed with diabetes nine years ago on this day, so I don't especially associate V-day with love. However, there was a balloon next to my bed that said, "I love you" on it with a teddy bear. This filled me with so much appreciation for my mom and so much love I wanted to run into her arms and have her never let me go. Then she took me out to lunch. Mexican food. I made an attempt at purging but it was just too much effort. Instead I fell asleep in my mom's bed and dreamed of better days. She went to see a rape counselor about me. She thinks that all my isolating, sleeping all day, and bingeing is all about the rape. I can tell you I don't believe that. I hate being called names all the time. Slitting my wrists and burning them is less painful. Trust me, I know. When she returned we went to the store and then to rent videos. I was planning out my binge as we walked into the door but this was not to be... "Do you know how many times Stanford has called? Maybe you should take your fucking cell phone. Yea Gwen. There's a thought." I called them back. Endocrine had left nine messages. They said it was urgent that I go to the ER, that an error in my EKG had been oversighted. I go there. My doctor immediately meets me and tries to phrase it in a way that won't stress my mom out even more. Unconciously, he has his tongue out and a stressed look on his face. "You know what a prolonged QT is? Well at Stanford the cardiologists found yours to be very prolonged. They need a repeat EKG asap. If this is still the case, we won't be able t treat you here." Immediately they do one. Guess what? I have 1/10th of a point leeway. I am as borderline as you can get. Basically, I am screwed. Laurie, the doctor at Stanford, called me back with the results of my HbA1c. She said it was 15.9. I was like, "Thats it?! Yea!" She said, "Gwen, hearing you say that almost makes me cry. So many people care about you, me Dr.Neely, Dr.Heints, all of us. You are so intelligent and you know how to take care of yourself, yet you have been doing this for so long." An overpowering sense of guilt hit me. I wanted to say, "I hate it too. I want to get better, I really am sorry, I will try." But all I could say was, "I'm sorry" over and over again. Then she talked to my pediatrician. They agreed to keep in close contact. I get to get more EKG's next week. If it goes up by that one-tenth of a point I go back into the hospital. They are very concerned about my heart. I'm screwed. Anyone want to send me flowers? J/K. I don't know what I am going to do. Something has got to give. I came home and binged. Right after that! Can you believe it? I can. Fuck me. I deserve to have a heart attack. Take care everyone. Sorry to be such a downer. You are all wonderful. 12:52 a.m. - 2003-02-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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