I was woken up by a nurse who needed to check my blood pressure and my blood sugar. I had had very little sleep, and I wanted to tell her to go away. In fact I nearly did.
However, my scientific background kicked in again, and I knew that she was collecting vital scientific data that would have an impact on my short- and long-term care. I also knew that if this was diabetes, there would be a lot of pin pricks in my future, so I let her.
At this point, it wasn’t clear to me if I actually had diabetes. I knew my blood sugar was high, and I’d also been told that all my other blood results were good. I was hoping that this would all turn out to be a false alarm, and become a funny story I could tell.
How was I feeling? Tired. Very tired. I knew whatever the diagnosis was, I would have to make some changes to my life, perhaps so I could recover, perhaps because I had to acknowledge that I am closer to 50 than 40. That was difficult. I was in better shape, physically and emotionally, in my 30s than I was in my 20s. And I am in better shape in my 40s than I was in my 30s. And now this was happening, whatever this was,
Michael came to see me. Technically, the AMAU doesn’t allow visitors, but we have found that visitors are almost always allowed if you keep quiet and behave yourself. It was funny being the patient rather than the visitor. Michael also brought me supplies. Specifically, fresh underwear and socks. I was still wearing the underwear and socks that I’d put on the previous morning. It felt good to get changed. After a couple of hours, Michael had to go, because he had an appointment of his own.
The diabetes nurse visited me. She did an HbA1c test. Like the blood sugar test, this was just a fingerprick test. Unlike the blood sugar test, which only measures your blood sugar at one instant in time, HbA1c measures your average blood sugar over the last few months. It came back extremely high, indicating that my blood sugar had been very high for a long time.
There was no possibility my blood sugar levels were an anomalous high. This was not going to be a funny story I could tell. This was type 2 diabetes.
The diabetes nurse gave me booklets. She talked to me about what I could do to control my blood sugar (better diet, more exercise). She talked to me about retinal screening. She talked to me about medication.
Eventually, one of the endocrinologists came to see me. He explained the diagnosis to me again. He told me he would prescribe metformin, and he told me I would be shown how to test my blood glucose, and I could go home.
All that remained was for the dialysis diabetes nurse to leave a blood glucose monitor for me, and for one of the ward nurses to explain to me how to use it.
Throughout my stay in hospital, I had been kept busy. I was updating many friends on WhatsApp and Instagram. In particular, Belfast Friend and I chatted a lot. With impeccable comic timing, he was telling me about what the nurses would show me before I was discharged as the nurse was showing me what to do.
I measured my blood glucose myself for the first time, took metformin for the first time, and I went home.