The panic was palpable.
I had just awoken from a night of binge drinking and vomiting.
I was so drunk and disoriented, I couldn’t even think straight.
My blood pressure had dropped to 120 millimetres, and my heart was racing so quickly I couldn, in fact, hear myself breathe.
The nurses called 911.
When I got out of bed, I knew that I was going to die.
When the emergency room nurse called me into the emergency department, I felt like a newborn baby.
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to get to the bed.
“Do you need an IV?” the nurse asked.
I said, “No, I need an insulin.”
The nurse pulled out my blood pressure cuff.
She handed me a bottle of insulin, which was the most lifesaving thing she’d ever given me.
I’d only just been released from a hospital, so the nurse told me to sit on the floor next to her.
She said, I want you to get the bottle of medicine out of the bag.
The nurse took a swig, and I felt the rush of the medicine into my veins.
I looked at my hands.
I felt cold.
It was like I’d been frozen.
My pulse was beating so fast I couldn to breathe.
Then the nurse put a hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed my shoulder.
I started to feel better.
When she looked at me, she saw that I wasn: a little bit blue.
I’m so glad that I had insulin.
The doctors who treated me, when they found out, were both surprised by the response.
I thought it was a good thing.
I still don’t know what exactly happened that night, but I do know I have a very high risk of developing diabetes.
It’s the only chronic disease that affects one in four Canadians.
The reason is that the majority of people who have diabetes get it when they are in their mid-30s or early 40s, and that’s when they need to take insulin more frequently.
I remember thinking, Oh, my god, this is crazy.
I could die.
I didn’t think I’d live to see my 40th birthday.
Now I know.
After that first day, I didn, too.
I got my first diagnosis.
I went home and didn’t sleep for a week.
When my parents asked me to stay home from work, I said no.
It hurt too much.
I kept telling myself that I could take care of myself, and the doctor wouldn’t think twice about it.
I took my first insulin injection at 7:30 a.m. on July 7, 2010.
My wife and I were sitting on our porch, waiting for the doctor to arrive.
He was driving a red car with the lights flashing, and a helicopter overhead.
I told my wife that I’d be home in about an hour, and she knew it.
“We’re going to need a second insulin, and we’re going get it,” I said.
My eyes were starting to burn.
We took my insulin and we waited.
By 8:30 p.m., my wife was having a heart attack.
She told me that the first injection had helped her sleep, but she still had to take her insulin more often.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I replied.
When he got back, he said, We’re going back to the hospital.
He said that they needed to put me on a ventilator.
We were waiting for hours for him to show up.
Finally, he showed up and put me in a chair.
“Your first injection did something,” he said.
“It made me think of my dad.”
My father had died from diabetes in 2011.
He had diabetes from a childhood illness called congenital hyperglycemia, which means he had one copy of the gene for it.
The family doctor had been researching the gene.
They were working on getting it into people through stem cell therapy.
At first, it was just a theory.
But the research showed that it was possible.
They decided to try it out.
The treatment was so promising, in a way, that the doctors decided to go ahead and start it.
It cost $4,000 to give the patients one injection.
They would have to take two shots, and they would have about a year to get it into the body.
They knew they’d be taking an extremely high risk, so they didn’t have the resources to try to save the patient’s life.
They started the process by using stem cells from someone else.
It wasn’t until I had my second insulin injection two weeks later that I realized what I’d done wrong.
I lost my blood sugar.
I spent three months in hospital and had to start taking my own insulin again.
The process of getting a blood sugar reading was painful and embarrassing.
I wanted to vomit all the time, so I had to wear a