Burden

Real Life in disguise.

I hate being a burden. I’ve been one nigh on my entire life. I can’t wait to stop burdening people.

I can’t wait.

Before I was diagnosed with Diabetes I was a burden: a shit-disturber, and rabble-rouser. A not-yet-eight-year-old with his own creative little mind, who would put pieces of dog poop in snowballs and throw them at passing cars, or forge his own way through a forest. Like down the creek on a wooden fence.

Also I peed the bed a lot.

So I was a burden. Then I was diagnosed, and I was a new different type of burden. I was now a financial burden. Diabetes isn’t one of those inexpensive life-long diseases: with 3–5 blood tests a day, 60mL of insulin a month, trips to the doctor, hospital, and other places with “pay-for-parking”, and the time spent learning, measuring food, monitoring, and worrying.

I was now a burden on my mother, who isn’t and wasn’t a helicopter, but she always made sure I was safe. Before cell phones were a thing, she once called my friend’s house and asked (loudly and angrily) “Where are you?!” . D’uh, Mom, you just called AJ’s house — so clearly I am there.

But being diabetic is a serious thing. Serious things happened. One sunny day that included lots of playing outside at the cottage made me think I was going to die. I was something like 12 years old at the time and all the exercise (without any food intake) lead to severely low blood sugar. In retrospect, when asked “How do you feel?” responding with “Like I’m going to die” was probably not the best choice. Sorta sends mom into Panic Mode. But my mom was cool.

And I didn’t die so that’s a plus.

Then I aged. I became a different type of burden. I stayed up late, and weird things happened. On one such occasion, my friends Joey and Brandon and I stayed up to watch the 2002 FIFA World Cup. At some point overnight my blood sugar dipped to a perilous low.

Peoples’ blood glucose (sugar) levels have a natural ebb and flow, and their panaceases will produce insulin — to lower the blood sugar level — or their liver will convert glycogen into glucose to raise the blood sugar level. Essentially, a normal person’s body will control that stuff for them. Everyone can experience hypoglycaemia though — that’s when you feel weak and shaky and you get pasty with a flop sweat. Juice, chocolate, or — my personal favourite — Gatorade are the easiest quick fixes. The smartest fixes are something with a complex carbohydrate (like bread, crackers, rice) and a protein (like peanut butter, cheese, or meat of some kind), but no one expects you to make a full dinner to boost your blood sugar quickly. I wouldn’t be able to wait for the turkey to cook and the flambé to settle. I would probably just pass out. Crackers and cheese is sorta what I was suggesting. But you “Normies” don’t typical pass out from hypoglycaemia. See how boring this stuff is. I hope you didn’t read it all.

Anyway, it was the middle of the night and my two friends and I were trying to stay up to watch the final game of the World Cup. I decided that I could no longer stay awake and went to sleep on a couch. This was at 4:00 a.m.

4:30 a.m.: My friends enter the same room I was in.
4:35 a.m.: I start kicking my friend Joey at the end of the couch I was sleeping on. Apparently I didn’t want him there.
4:40a.m.: After five minutes of arguing with a non-responsive me, my friends thought I was just kidding around.
4:41 a.m.: I stand up, look pissed off, and tip the lampshade to an awkward angle, then lay back down to sleep.
5:00a.m.: I get up and walk to the other room, where I knocked over a PS2 and tried to open the front door. Apparently I wanted to leave. The door was locked and this eluded me.
5:03 a.m.: My friends came to see what I was up to, which was tying my rollerblades up with big knots, and putting a sock on the end of one of them — still not sure why — and attempting to leave.
5:10 a.m.: Brandon’s dad was alerted to my weirdness and informed to drive me home.

Now, I didn’t remember much of this. I had to be told the next day. And as they were telling me, some of it came back into “focus”, although it’s still pretty foggy to this day. The one part I remember distinctly is the end, when I was sitting shotgun with Brandon’s dad in the driver’s seat.

“OK, so where do you live?”

I remember hearing his question and responding with pretty explicit directions. But what I really did was say nothing. In my head the response was so easy and flowed, but in reality I just sat there like a tree, looking down at my limbs. Joey and Brandon got in the car and showed Brandon’s dad the way home. When I got there my brother yelled at me for a bit, and, of course, I said nothing. I hate being a burden. I drank some chocolate milk and went to bed.

I hate being a burden. I hate when “things” “happen”. But I was reminded of something this morning after burdening my roommate, landlord, and friend, Eli, with the news that the toilet was overflowing.

And this was about a minute after he woke up.

I caught Eli coming out of his room, and let him in on the news. And it was this problem that made him 45 minutes late for work. He was probably thinking about the damage, the cost, the responsibility, what he’d have to do to solve this problem I created.

But he was cool. He helped. He made me feel like “not an idiot”. Things happen in real life, and, as he was leaving, I told Eli, “I hate when things happen.” Know what he said?

“Welcome to the real world.”

And I learned from my experience. I’ve learned from my experience with Diabetes, I’ve learned from my experience with the toilet, I’ve learned from my experiences with having absolutely no money and my experiences having more money than I need. The more you do and the more you know, the “better” you are. “Better” at being a responsible, intelligent, thoughtful human.

When “things” “happen” you get “better”.

You can’t avoid real life. And you shouldn’t.
I can’t avoid real life. And I don’t want to.

Real life happens. And I can’t wait.