Below is an account of the seventh hypoglycemic event in the life of 8-year-old Maverick. This is Maverick’s perspective, as recounted by his mother, Sarah.
Life is fragile. Things change in a blink of an eye. Yesterday we were having fun on the beach not getting any razor clams. Fun road trip with friends and seeing a sister and aunt. I passed out on the way home like a normal kiddo after a long day. (Mom checked sugars on Dex – a little high but okay for a long car ride). Got home just in time for Daddy to be off work! Kisses, happy birthday to Dad.
We had a late lunch so not hungry just wanted to play video games with Sissy and chill. It’s Daddy’s birthday so grandpa stops by to give loves and play with the puppies. I had a small turkey sandwich 20 carbs. I got to go to bed late because of a long nap. Mom checks sugars – high at 11 p.m. and fixes it.
Mom trucks out checks at 1 a.m. and 3 a.m. – sugars are 230. She leaves me alone. My Dex is by me, but not turned up loud and we all sleep through the alarm. Daddy wakes up 6:45 to pee – walks right pass me to go. Wesson, my favorite puppy, is waiting at the bathroom door and herds my dad to my side.
Dad then feels my chest. I’m so cold – hardly breathing. Dad yells for Mom. She comes running. I’m seizing on the the floor – arms at an odd angle. Dad’s getting glucagon ready (it’s the big needle) he looks up, “Sarah, call 911. He’s cold and I don’t think he’s breathing.” Mom makes the dreaded call. Dad gives the hurtful shot. My blood sugar is 55.
The ambulance and firefighters come, but I have no idea they are here. I’m lost in a low. Dad and Mom piece together clothes. My sissy puts my protector Wesson and the other pup away. Now I’m 80 going up, but I still have no idea where I am. Dad carries my shaking body to the gurney. I am now in the ambulance strapped down scared with my mommy. I have no idea I’m moving in a vehicle. I want the bathroom, but can’t speak my words, they are unclear. I’m so upset I know what I want need, but my speech is gone. Mom is my only voice my sugars are rising why can I not speak why am I not back to normal. I nap, but still no voice.
Finally we get to the ER. I blurt out that I have to pee. Yes, finally words, but they leave me again soon. Where am I? I wanna go home, I wanna go home! Where’s Daddy? My lips are so tight. The words won’t come. Sleep takes over over and over. No, I don’t want to eat, I’m not hungry. “Your blood sugar is dropping. Eat, eat, eat, please!” No, so tired. I drink some juice. I throw that up. Meds for anti nausea. I don’t trust this. Sleep. “Please eat, please eat, sugars are dropping.” Drink juice. Force a small slice of bacon. Throw that up.
It’s IV time. Ow, ow, ow. Stop, stop, stop. Sleep. Sugars go up, sugar water helps. I have to stay the night at the hospital. No more fight. Sleep takes over my tired body. Mom and Uncle are at my side, Dad has come and gone. I wanna shower. Sleep, sleep, sleep. I’m awake. I do really wanna shower. The nurse said yes – I finally get to shower and then I sleep.
Doctors are trying to figure out number ratios. I don’t care – I just wanna feel better. Make me better. All of this is because I have Type one diabetes and post athletic lag and I attempted to be a kid and play on the cold beach and I burned too much energy and my liver took all the sugars back and I dropped too hard too fast. My parents found me low, cold and not breathing. Life is fragile. Kiss, hug and love as much as you can. Thank goodness for Wesson, Daddy and Mommy. I am okay and resting in the hospital.
From Sarah: This was my 8-year-old’s day. Type 1 never sleeps. All I can do is hope for a cure and pray for a better day. We are doing better just resting and hoping for answers. This is the 7th seizure in Maverick’s two years of having this disease – post athletic lag, a cold, emotions – every little thing affects him so much. We are searching for answers.