Days after Halloween, a childish mentality, with faces full of candy. The best days, leading up to the worst day of my life. 3 a.m. in the morning, my stomach turned sideways, drier than a prune. Eyes fought to open, instead, they wanted to stay together. Not the 3a.m. snack runs, but the 3 a.m. runs. I profusely vomited my hard-earned candy. Miles of hard work down the drain. As I went back to bed, I would awaken to the same occurrence. This time any food or drink I had, would be seen just minutes later. As I lay in bed like a dead flower, I hear the frantic voices of my parents. Murmurs from the other side of the cell phone. What is happening to me? “You have ketones,” said my father. Off to the hospital, we go. I was put into the coolest gown, got fed amazing food, to then be told “If you waited a few more hours, I don’t know if you would be here.” The accuracy of this statement is unknown, as I in fact was still alive. At this point, my favorite childhood doctor would come in the room and scold me about not taking better care of my diabetes. Although I was treated like a king in this hospital, it is not a place you want to continuously visit. The lesson learned. I need to take care of my health, so I began doing just that.
The Bolt Magazine 