The Lazarus Syndrome

****Part One****

NOTE: My ex decided that she "couldn't spend the rest of her life living with a cripple," but I've left this page in the Public Domain in case someone else with a Diabetic Partner can learn something. WebMasterBruce

As a young man stationed in Asia, I thought to learn the Martial Arts.

"Sensei," I asked, "Will you teach me? I wish to be a great fighter."

"Anyone can learn to fight," he said to me. "If you wish to be a Great Man, learn to be a Teacher and a Healer, for that is to be your path."

Having no interest in learning about ancient Asian herbs and berries, and thinking this old man was just a little too far off center for me, I quickly forget his words. Being 20 and impatient and invincible, I gave little thought to the different connotations one might apply to the word "Healer." Besides, with my being Navy Special Forces in a foreign country, there are PLENTY of other interesting diversions to spend my free time on.

20 years later, his words would come back to me again and again, and even today, I wonder who this man was and what ever happened to him….

*******

The alarm clock's red LED numbers glow 3:37am. From a deep, sound, sleep my eyes snap open. Adrenaline starts surging through my body even before I can consciously tell myself "Something's Wrong…." I reach over to touch Valerie, and then I know: The sheets are saturated. Her skin is cold and clammy. I hit the lights and peel back the bedding. My wife is barely breathing, and her pulse is weak and irregular.

Hypoglycemic Shock.

Diabetic Coma.

Insulin Reaction.

Again.

"OhGodOhGodOhGodNotAgainNotAgainOhGodPleaseDon'tLetThisBeTHEONE…" I leap off the bed (scattering the cats), and race to the kitchen. Grabbing our Winnie the Pooh honey jar that I always keep filled for just this purpose, I sprint back to the bedroom. I climb on the bed and get her slimy body into a half-sitting position, then cradle her head in my arms. "You've been here before, Bruce, you know the drill." Her unfocused eyes roll from side to side and a tiny gurgle comes from her lips, but she's still breathing (sort of) so I've gotten to her in time (I think). I scoop a tablespoon of honey from the pot with my finger, and coat the inside of her mouth and tongue with it.

3:38am.

My senses are electric, but it's just the adrenaline and I take a few deep breaths to relax. "It's gonna be OK," I keep telling myself, "I got to her in time again." I debate reaching over to hit the emergency button on the LifeLine box I had installed when we moved here. You know the one, the "I've Fallen and Can't Get Up" box that plugs into the phone line? Unfortunately, it takes the paramedics a minimum of 25 minutes to reach our rural home, and for better or for worse, I know this episode will be over by then.

3:44am.

Seconds pass like hours and minutes pass like days. I'm never quite sure if she can hear me or not, but I stroke her hair, and tell her that I love her over and over, and tell her it's all going to be OK. After an eternity I feel the first signs of returning Life: My wife's arms and legs begin to twitch every so slightly. Her breathing begins to deepen. Her eyes begin to move but still won't focus, and I keep her cradled tightly in my grasp.

3:47am.

Imperceptibly at first, then little by little, the muscles in her throat begin to respond. Little by little, Valerie begins to swallow small amounts of the honey I've placed in her mouth. It's the life-sign I've been praying for and the stress begins to bleed away: I now know I made the right call and she's going to pull through this one, this time. Although she's still completely incoherent, she begins to struggle against me some. I hold her tight and tell her over and over that I got her in time, and that it's all going to be OK.

3:50am.

I watch her closely as my wife begins to regain some degree of control over her throat muscles. First by drips, then by drops, I begin to feed her more of the honey and she instinctively swallows it down. I have to be really careful not to feed her too much too fast: her gag reflexes still don't work right, and it just wouldn't do to get honey in her lungs at this point… She begins to get agitated and tries feebly to move. I continue to tell her it's all going to be OK now, and I think her brain starts to register what's happening- my wife relaxes and closes her eyes and continues to savor the honey.

3:56am.

Each time it happens, I'm amazed at the transition from death to life because there really isn't a hard, crisp dividing line. It's almost like watching a sunrise… the darkness slowly softens and you watch the colors brighten, and then you blink and the sun is suddenly blazing in all it's glory. As if riding an exponential curve, my wife returns to full consciousness. We hug, and make small talk, and revel in the joy of having another day together. When she's ready, I help her clean up and make her something more substantial than honey to eat. We know from experience that she'll feel "drained" for a day, and we both take turns checking her blood sugar and insulin levels. Soon enough, the stress of the episode has left us, and I watch over her while she drifts off back to sleep. I already know our home-based Internet business will be closed today…. The SeamMistress won't be sewing your Tiger Costume today, and the WebMaster won't be answering your emails. I don't care if it WAS a rush order. Not today, Period.

*******

WebMaster Bruce