I could tell by Marina’s voice that something was wrong. I was not expecting to spend the next six hours in the emergency room.
We were at the doctor’s office, getting the results from the blood tests we’d taken the day before. The doctor had separated us when we arrived. A nurse had taken me into an exam room, pricked my finger, took another micro sample and disappeared. Ten seconds later, Marina called, “Honey? Come.” There was a slight quiver in her voice. Something was wrong.
I walked eight feet down the hall, turned right and entered the doc’s office. The doc told me to sit down. I did. Marina took my hand and said, “Your blood sugar is high.” I thought nothing of it.
“What about you,” I asked.
“I’m all good,” she said, managing to flash a trembling smile for a half second. I looked deep into her eyes, filled with confusion and fear. I squeezed her hand. I smiled. She looked away, A single tear rolled down her cheek.
“So, what do we do about this?” I asked.
“We have to go to the emergency room,” Marina said, squeezing my hand. Emergency room? I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Your blood sugar is really high. Dangerously high,” Marina told me. I said nothing. I felt nothing. No fear. No panic. Nothing but concern for Marina, who was obviously distraught.
“A normal reading is between four and six. Yours is 23.” I was trying to find a joke in my twisted head. Something to shake Marin out of her anxiety. Nothing was coming. But I was still unconcerned. Things are never good, nor bad, they just are, and you have to deal.
“The sample they took yesterday was 23. The one they just took is 19.6, Brian. We have to get to the hospital. You could slip into a sugar-coma at any time.”