another cigarette, but I'm
not sure I want to tick off God at this point.
"They also say millions of people live with this. If
people were kicking the bucket the way they are with boobie cancer,
we'd hear about it on the news. There'd be fundraising walks and
ribbons on car bumpers," I say.
"Maybe it's like gang fights in LA. It's so common it
doesn't make the news anymore."
"If it were that common, we'd know someone with it.
You know any kids with diabetes?"
"No. You know any adults?"
"No." I'm dying for another puff. I find a rubber
band in my pocket and twist it around my fingers for something to
do. "Well, maybe a few. But I think they all have the second kind.
They don't shoot up; they take pills. And they're all fat."
"Stop it, Mom."
"What?"
"The fat thing. You know how many times today you've
talked about fat like it's some defect?"
"I don't talk like that. It's just a fact. If you
can't see your toes and none of the clothes at Wal-Mart fit you,
you're fat. Like saying Mr. Rodriguez is Spanish or Mr. Ruben is
bald."
"Mexican, Mom."
"What?"
"The Rodriguezes are Mexican."
"Isn't that what I said?"
"No."
"Well, anyway, all the people I know who have
diabetes can't see their toes, and they still eat whatever they
want, and they don't worry about how many carbohydrates are in the
food, and I've never seen any of them pass out." I stop, because
all I can see now is Ashley bent over on the driveway, falling,
falling. I pull so hard at the rubber band that it breaks and snaps
my fingers.
"In a couple days we all get to go home, and they
wouldn't let us go home if Ashley isn't going to be okay." I want
to believe this as much as I need him to believe it.
"Okay."
"Okay what?" I'm expecting some backtalk, some
sarcasm, but he just shrugs.
"Okay, if you say she'll be fine, I believe you." He
hands me the pack of cigarettes. "I'm not going to be your
supplier. If Dad caught me, he'd kill me."
He starts back to the door but stops short. "You know
Ms. Brenda told me the church was praying that God will cure
Ashley. She thinks she doesn't need any insulin or any special
diet."
This makes me angry enough to spit nails, but I bite
my cheek. "God is using the insulin to cure Ashley. Sometimes he
does that--using drugs instead of healing outright."
"She says we just need faith."
"Next time she says that, you tell her we have plenty
of faith. We have faith that God sent us Dr. Benton and the miracle
of insulin, because without them she'd be dead."
I think he's going to talk back, but instead he takes
the lighter out of his pocket and tosses it to me. "Only one a
night, Mom." I nod and watch the pink Mohawk disappear behind the
sliding doors.
~~~~
The Ronald McDonald house is right across the parking
lot, and they have one empty room all of us will have to crowd
into. I don't know what I expected, but this ain't it. It's like a
cross between a hotel and a house. There's a kitchen and a family
room on the first floor, and when we walk in several parents are
sitting around drinking coffee. One man comes over and shakes our
hand and introduces himself all proper-like to us, and then
introduces the others in the room.
"This is Jim and Amanda; they have a sixteen year old
son that was in a car accident. That's Torren; her baby was born
with hydrocephalus-- water on the brain. And Dina has a
two-year-old daughter who is having her third heart surgery." We
awkwardly shake all their hands. "I'm Hank. My daughter has
leukemia," he adds, like it's an afterthought. I'm uncomfortable
with how we are all defined by our diseases.
"Our daughter has diabetes," Travis says.
"Oh," Hank says. "That's not too bad then. I don't
guess you'll be here very long. It's just really an education
thing, right?"
Travis feels me stiffen and lays his hand on my back.
"It's our first day," he says evenly. "I'm not sure what all will
happen, but since she went into a coma, I think it's a little more
than just educational." He's being
not sure I want to tick off God at this point.
"They also say millions of people live with this. If
people were kicking the bucket the way they are with boobie cancer,
we'd hear about it on the news. There'd be fundraising walks and
ribbons on car bumpers," I say.
"Maybe it's like gang fights in LA. It's so common it
doesn't make the news anymore."
"If it were that common, we'd know someone with it.
You know any kids with diabetes?"
"No. You know any adults?"
"No." I'm dying for another puff. I find a rubber
band in my pocket and twist it around my fingers for something to
do. "Well, maybe a few. But I think they all have the second kind.
They don't shoot up; they take pills. And they're all fat."
"Stop it, Mom."
"What?"
"The fat thing. You know how many times today you've
talked about fat like it's some defect?"
"I don't talk like that. It's just a fact. If you
can't see your toes and none of the clothes at Wal-Mart fit you,
you're fat. Like saying Mr. Rodriguez is Spanish or Mr. Ruben is
bald."
"Mexican, Mom."
"What?"
"The Rodriguezes are Mexican."
"Isn't that what I said?"
"No."
"Well, anyway, all the people I know who have
diabetes can't see their toes, and they still eat whatever they
want, and they don't worry about how many carbohydrates are in the
food, and I've never seen any of them pass out." I stop, because
all I can see now is Ashley bent over on the driveway, falling,
falling. I pull so hard at the rubber band that it breaks and snaps
my fingers.
"In a couple days we all get to go home, and they
wouldn't let us go home if Ashley isn't going to be okay." I want
to believe this as much as I need him to believe it.
"Okay."
"Okay what?" I'm expecting some backtalk, some
sarcasm, but he just shrugs.
"Okay, if you say she'll be fine, I believe you." He
hands me the pack of cigarettes. "I'm not going to be your
supplier. If Dad caught me, he'd kill me."
He starts back to the door but stops short. "You know
Ms. Brenda told me the church was praying that God will cure
Ashley. She thinks she doesn't need any insulin or any special
diet."
This makes me angry enough to spit nails, but I bite
my cheek. "God is using the insulin to cure Ashley. Sometimes he
does that--using drugs instead of healing outright."
"She says we just need faith."
"Next time she says that, you tell her we have plenty
of faith. We have faith that God sent us Dr. Benton and the miracle
of insulin, because without them she'd be dead."
I think he's going to talk back, but instead he takes
the lighter out of his pocket and tosses it to me. "Only one a
night, Mom." I nod and watch the pink Mohawk disappear behind the
sliding doors.
~~~~
The Ronald McDonald house is right across the parking
lot, and they have one empty room all of us will have to crowd
into. I don't know what I expected, but this ain't it. It's like a
cross between a hotel and a house. There's a kitchen and a family
room on the first floor, and when we walk in several parents are
sitting around drinking coffee. One man comes over and shakes our
hand and introduces himself all proper-like to us, and then
introduces the others in the room.
"This is Jim and Amanda; they have a sixteen year old
son that was in a car accident. That's Torren; her baby was born
with hydrocephalus-- water on the brain. And Dina has a
two-year-old daughter who is having her third heart surgery." We
awkwardly shake all their hands. "I'm Hank. My daughter has
leukemia," he adds, like it's an afterthought. I'm uncomfortable
with how we are all defined by our diseases.
"Our daughter has diabetes," Travis says.
"Oh," Hank says. "That's not too bad then. I don't
guess you'll be here very long. It's just really an education
thing, right?"
Travis feels me stiffen and lays his hand on my back.
"It's our first day," he says evenly. "I'm not sure what all will
happen, but since she went into a coma, I think it's a little more
than just educational." He's being
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