I didn’t believe it. The doctor had to be wrong.
That bad stuff happened to people with Type 1 Diabetes,
not people like me with Type 2 Diabetes. It happened to sick people who could
already barely get around. Not someone like me who worked on my feet all day.
What about my job!?
How could I run a restaurant kitchen from a wheelchair?
How was I going to support my family?
I’d spend the last years of my life handicapped, unable
to get around, unable to keep my family fed.
The rest of my life suddenly seemed like a dark,
terrifying path that I didn’t want to go through.
And it was all because of the greedy, lying diabetes
industry, who just want to keep us buying insulin shots and filling their bank
accounts. If they spent some of that money actually looking for a cure, I
wouldn’t be in this mess.
I wouldn’t be dying in just 10 years.
I wouldn’t be missing my golden years of retirement, or
fully enjoying what I’ve worked so hard to build.
Or playing in the backyard with my grandkids.
I wanted to find this diabetes company executives and
strangle them!
Not that it would do me any good.
I was going to lose my legs, and then I was going to die.
There was nothing I could do to change that.
Now, all the time I was thinking this, my wife was
arguing with the doctor.
And trust me, when my wife gets upset, she tends to get
what she wants.
When I started listening again, she was telling the
doctor, “there is no way you’re cutting off his legs today.”
“The longest we can wait is 60 days,” said the doctor.
“If we wait any longer, it will be too dangerous.”
My wife gave a short little nod like she did when she won
an argument, but I could tell by the tears forming in her eyes that she still
felt like she’d lost.
After all, I would still lose my legs.
I would still be dead in ten years.
They let me go home soon afterwards.
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