Diabetic

A Story by Z

I meant for this story just to be a quick creepy read.

Being a diabetic, mom had to make sure to test her blood sugar every so often throughout the day. I made sure of it daily by taking her tests for her while she slept. Why did I have to do it? Well, it's simple in it's own twisted way. My mother had crippling depression along with her diabetes ever since Dad left us when I was five. I can't count how many times I had found my mother sitting on the bathroom floor with blood running down her wrists. Luckily though, she taught me how to take her test before dad left. She always told me that I may come down with the disease one day. My great grandfather, my grandmother, and my mother all had it. She wanted to make sure I was prepared. Though I always knew I wouldn't get it, I still helped her which was good since now it's a need.

I grabbed my mother's test kit and pricked the index finger. I winced at the sound of the needle being forced through the little shot. I then squeezed gently to get enough blood to gather at the opening before moving the index finger to the test strip and set the test kit aside as I covered the fresh wound with a purple band-aid, her favorite color. When the kit beeped, I looked at the numbers on the screen.

"You're in the nineties. Better give you some sugar just to get you back" I mumbled to her sleeping body. I knew better than to wake her. So instead, I grabbed the glucose shot, got it ready, and stuck it into her arm. I pushed the sugary water into her system then threw the shot away. I kissed her forehead. "I'll check on you in a little while" I promised as I stood up and left the room for the kitchen. I made something to eat then sat down on the couch to find a show to watch to pass time.

This continued day after day after day. Each day that went by was just another day closer to college. I knew I couldn't balance the two. Unfortunately, I could never find the heart to tell her I couldn't take care of her anymore. How do you bring that conversation up with the woman who gave birth to you?

"Mom.. I know I always told you that I wouldn't send you to a hospital.. But I will be starting college soon. I'm so afraid I'll fail since you really do take up a lot of my time.." I sighed heavily, staring into the mirror in my bathroom. I shook my head and looked down at the sink. I couldn't tell my mother that her only daughter was giving her away to a place she never wanted to be in. I stared at the card laying on the counter. My mother's doctor was just one call away. I teared up and brought the card to my room where I sat down and dialed her number.

The next morning, I sat with my mother on her bed. I held her and played with her hair as she slept. The day of freedom was here and I couldn't bring myself to be excited.

"I promise to come visit you.." I whispered into her ear as I rested my head against hers. "I'm so sorry Mommy.."

There was a knock on the door. I sniffled and rubbed at my sad eyes, letting go of mom as I walked to the front door. I opened it and looked up at the doctor and nurses behind him.

"Hello, is your mother ready?" She smiled at me.

"She's in her room sleeping. I wanted to let her get as much rest before you come to get her." She nodded understandingly and walked inside with the nurses, one who had a wheelchair. I pointed down the hall to her room and sat on the couch. They disappeared down the hall.

"Ooh, when was the last time she showered" was the last thing I heard as they entered the room.

Just seconds later, a loud shriek came from down the hallway. I stood up quickly and headed for the hallway until a nurse practically ran into me. I stopped, letting her run past me. I turned to the doctor who was coming down the hallway at a quick speed. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale.

"What's wrong? Is mom okay?" I asked frantically as I pushed past the doctor and ran to her room. A nurse laid passed out on the floor and my mother continued to lay in her bed. I turned back confused at the doctor. "What's the screaming for?" The doctor stared at me dumbfounded.

"How long has your mother been dead?!"

I stared down at my purple band-aid covered fingers then up at my mother's bed where only a skeleton laid.

"She's not dead. She just has diabetes."