Water Under The Bridge Chapter Eight: Brooklynn

Four years. That’s how long it’s been since the first time I went into DKA. I was in seventh grade. It’d been about a week or two since I’d taken any insulin. I was only testing every few days. And that wasn’t even my lowest point.

DKA stands for diabetic ketoacidosis. It’s every diabetic’s worse nightmare. DKA is a terrifying state where one’s body can no longer use food for energy and starts breaking down fat and tissues. The bi-products of this emergency energy are called ketones. If enough of them build up in the bloodstream, the blood itself becomes acidic, then toxic and, eventually, lethal. I’ve been in DKA three times.

I’d been dizzy and sick to my stomach for days. I came home from school one night and went straight to bed. I didn’t do homework, I didn’t eat dinner; I thought and I slept and I cried. Why am I doing this to myself? I wondered, clutching tightly to my blankets. What’s the point? To be skinny? I am skinny! I’m pretty…I used to be pretty. I remember dragging myself out of bed to look in the mirror. I was ghostly pale. I pulled up my shirt and counted my ribs. My hipbones jutted out sharply and my sweatpants were falling off. But my eyes were what scared me. They had been bright and expressive, full of life and energy. When I was little, I always got complemented on my beautiful blue eyes. But that night, they were just the opposite. They were still blue, I guess. But they looked so dull and tired, sunken into my face, and rimmed in red circles, dark bags and smudged mascara. God, what’s wrong with me? I’m so ugly…no matter what I do, I’m ugly. I feel like shit all the time. What’s the point?

I remember getting so dizzy, I just couldn’t stand up anymore. I went back to bed, chugged down a bottle of water, and fell into a restless sleep.

The next thing I knew, my eyes flew open, and I knew something was horribly wrong. My throat and mouth felt drier than I could ever remember, even before diagnosis. Cotton mouth can’t describe that kind of unquenchable thirst. My stomach was churning, and my bladder felt like it would burst at any moment. I could feel my heart pounding a million miles an hour inside my fragile, gasping chest. I felt sticky and dizzy. I found my hands, pulled them from the tangle of the blankets, and tried to use them to push myself to a sit. I couldn’t. My stomach twisted, my mouth felt hot, and my head spun. I rolled over and emptied my stomach on my bedroom floor. I panted. I gagged. I threw up again. And then I screamed for my parents. They rushed me to the Emergency Department at 1:37 AM the day before Halloween.

Five days. That’s how long I was in the hospital. That’s how long I had an IV in my arm and insulin in my veins. That’s how long it took to gain seven pounds. For about a month after that, I took my regimen mostly like I was supposed to. But I gradually lost control all over again. By Christmas, I was trapped in another vicious cycle of food and weight, of self image and illness and mood swings, of extreme highs and lows.

Eight days. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve committed myself again. I want to get better. I want to feel good. I do feel good. This beats being weak and nauseous all the time. But I feel heavy and bloated and FAT. I’m nervous and fidgety; what the hell am I supposed to do with all this energy? I keep trying to tell myself it’s my health that matters, and I’m making things better for myself. I can’t make myself believe any of it. My clothes are fitting a little tighter. I feel swollen and FAT. But everyone keeps convincing me that it’s for the better.

Two hours. That’s how long I’ve had two extra eight year olds and an extra five year old running around my house. That’s how long I’ve been thanking God for earphones. Katie, the social butterfly, has made so many new friends. Third grade is incredible, awesome, fun. Third grade was the year I got diagnosed, but she doesn’t have to know that.

“Brooklynn!” My mother calls. “Can you come here a second?”

Slowly, I sit up and pull the headphones out of my ears. “Yeah!” I scream back. “What?”

“Come here and stop yelling.” She calls.

I sigh, uncoil myself from the corner of my bed and yank the music out of my ears: Nick Jonas’s Vesper’s Goodbye comes to a halt.

My sisters are standing in the foyer with their friends, laughing and talking over each other.

“Brooklynn, I need to wait for Cassie’s ride. Would you do me a favor and walk Samantha and Lauren home? They live directly across from the park.”

Two little blonde girls, sisters I guess, hug my sisters good bye and obediently follow me to the door. Maybe the walk will do me good. I stuff my feet into my Converse and plaster on a smile.

“Alright, girls,” My mom says brightly. “Thanks for coming over. Katie and Delany’s sister Brooklynn is going to walk you home okay?”

“Come on you guys.” I say, pulling the door open. Bright September sunshine hurts my eyes. The girls follow me like ducklings in a row.

“So, you’re Delany’s sister?” Lauren, I think, asks me.

“Yup.” I answer dully. “Are you in her class?”

“Uh-huh!” She says excitedly. “We sit next to each other during seatwork, and share at snack time, and she’s my best friend!”

I smile a little. Kids are so trusting and open. I miss that.

“How old are you?” Samantha asks.

“Sixteen.” I wave them around a corner. “How about you?”

“I’m eight and she’s five.” She answers, as her sister tramples a flower bed. “Can you drive?”

“Yup. I got my license this summer.” I’m about to tell her something else, but my jaw hits the floor and I stop breathing.

Hot new kid is walking straight towards me. His hands are stuffed in his jeans pockets and his shaggy hair is perfectly windswept over his forehead.

Before my brain can stop my stupid, stupid mouth, I speak. “Hey, you lost again?” What the hell was that? He’s just taking a walk.

But he smiles a little uneasily. My heart stops. “Um, believe it or not…yeah.” He laughs nervously. “I’m picking up my little sister from a play date. We just moved a little bit ago and this is the first time she’s really been anywhere and I—“ He stops and licks his lips. A smile touches the corners of mine. “Um, you wouldn’t happen to know where Katie Walters lives, would you? She’s in third grade.”

“I’m her sister.” It suddenly doesn’t hurt to smile. “So, yeah,” I giggle. Why did I just giggle? “I know where she lives. Around the corner here, right in the middle of the street. Green shutters, number 3904.”

“So, you’re her sister, huh?” He gestures to Samantha and Lauren, standing in the grass. “Are those your sisters too?”

I shake my head. “They’re part of the play date.”

“Ah,” he says. “Okay. I guess Cassie and your sister are in the same class.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I answer stupidly. Lauren jumps on and off the curb. They’re getting restless already. Damn elementary attention spans. Damn time. Let me talk to him forever.

“I guess I better go get Cass,” he says with another nervous smile. “I’ll see you around.”

“Uh-huh. Bye Shawn.” I call after him, and my head drops. Why. Am. I. So. Stupid? I can’t even talk to people.