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It was back in the early part of 1986 when I sat in my doctors office and listened to him tell me I had diabetes. It was a shock but I had known something was very wrong for some time. At any rate, the doctor went on at length to tell me all about what I was going to have to do if I wanted to go on living, and what I was going to have to give up if I wanted to stay all in one piece. I had tried my best to do all the things he had told me to do and quit all the poisonous habits he had told me to give up. Yet here I am in a hospital bed encased in a plaster cast from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. There just doesn’t seem to be any justice. After having been diabetic for a little over fifteen years, I had suddenly developed a great pain in my left foot. It felt like my foot was on fire and it just wouldn’t go away. This in itself, was odd because it had been years since I had lost all feeling in my feet. It had to be my imagination but it sure did hurt. The pain was continuous for several days. Finally, desperate for a good nights sleep and a few hours of relief from the pain I went to the hospital for some help. I checked in at the front desk and told the nurse on duty what my problem was. She repeated after me, “You’re diabetic and you have a terrible pain in your left foot.” “Yes.” I answered, “And it seems to be moving very slowly up my leg.” She instantly dropped the pencil she had been writing with, grabbed the phone and said into it, “Doctor, I have a diabetic man here, with a terrible pain in his left foot and it seems to be migrating up his leg.” As she hung up the phone, an attendant rushed into the room with a wheel chair and plopped me into it. We then took off on a wild ride through the halls of the hospital to another room where a doctor stood glaring at my left leg. He poked and prodded a few moment before looking deep into my eyes and saying, “You’re diabetic, your left foot and leg hurt. I hate to have to tell you this but it looks as if the leg will have to come off.” As he spoke he made a circle of small dots around my leg just below the knee. He went on scaring the pants off me by saying, “If you want to keep the other lag you’ll need to increase the amount of insulin you shoot each day. However, in cases like this, I’ll need a second opinion.” Once again in the wheel chair, I was rushed up stairs to another doctor. Like the first doctor, this doctor poked and probed at me leg for a while before looking at my medical record and saying, “We may need to remove your leg, but first I want to try changing your medication. You will no longer shoot insulin but you will need to take all the pills on this list twice a day. However, in cases like this, I’ll need a second opinion.” Continued On Next Page (doctor, Page 2) ... AUTHOR: Robert P. Herbst TAGS: Literary Work health diabetes fitness BOOKMARK: Digg it | Add to Del.ICIO | Add to FARK ACTIONS: Comment Save Print Register free acount |
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