We are a multifaceted group here at the Clubhouse. Autism is just one of the permanent dwellers we have living with us, as most know.
We live with autism and Asperger's. We live with ADHD. We live with depression along with an undiagnosed case of Diva Disorder.
We also live with diabetes...who as of late has been the most vicious and cruel resident of all.
Ira is back in the hospital.
Over the weekend he had been looking rather rough and ragged but for the most part he appeared to be doing all right. He went through his daily activities as usual. We ate dinner together as we always do. But as evening began to set in he started feeling as rough as he was looking. Lightheadedness and nausea slowly crept over him and before I knew it, he was in the bathroom with the bucket underneath him. His blood sugar was at 310. "I need to go in," he managed to say.
Off came the pajamas and on with the scrubs. I managed to get him to the van and headed in the direction of ER. He had put the passenger side seat back but as we got closer to ER, he said, "Go inside and get help. I'm about to pass out." Which is exactly what he did.
Security got him inside while I parked the van. Once inside blood work was done...an X-ray was done on his remaining foot...blood sugar was checked again. It had dropped from 310 to 192 within 30 minutes. Before the hour was up it dropped again to 45.
Needless to say I was not well. I watched Ira laying there in his bed looking worn and haggered. He looked at me with a look I have never seen before, almost blank and fixed, like he was looking past me at someone standing over my shoulder. Every emotion, every thought, every feeling, everything I have spent the last year stuffing boiled to the surface and the meltdown that ensued was inevitable but beyond imaginable. The poor nurse on duty got the brunt end of it all which only added to the guilt.
The reality is Ira is on borrowed time. He is dying. Each day, each minute, each hour, each second is a gift because it is anyone's guess as to when the last one will come. He is becoming more and more vocal about his final wishes, something he never used to be before. And each day I curse diabetes more and more.
From here I will be making a trip to his hospital room. I will sit with him, talk with him, hopefully finding out what put him there in the first place. I will attempt to smile...I will sneak in some laughter...all the while piecing together a broken heart.
Ira is dying. And there is nothing I can do about it.
