It's no secret that her blood sugar is already sky rocketing, and she's been feeling sick since the second bag of peach rings, but nevertheless, she manages to slip one more sugar coated, manufactured, ringleted piece of hope into her smiling mouth before all the wrappers dissappear behind a veil of darkness.
She's not sure exactly why she does it, but ever since the age of seven she's been self inducing these diabetic atrocities. Every time it's a different candy- at the beginning it was candy dots; easy enough to devour just because there were so many interesting and intricate patterns in which she could eat them. She'd eat the pinks first, then the blues, then the greens, then the yellows on the first roll, then eat the next roll like a pack man- following the sugary specks around and around and around from the outside edge to the center, in a continuous stream of munching.
The most challenging candy coma by far was Mr. Wonka's supposedly ever lasting gobstoppers, which, disappointingly, were everything but everlasting and released quasi unbearable shots of ridiculously sweet powdered sugar that made her teeth hurt and her gag reflex retaliate. That time, waking up in the hospital with the dreaded IV needle lodged in her veins was a trophy of the sweet victory against her body- against all odds, she managed to force almost three hundred of the gross little orbs into her bloodstream.
Through the veil of the coma, she can hear her mother shrieking and feel her body twitching. The conversation between her parents makes her want to laugh, but the saccharine paralysis has already flooded through her face.
"I'm telling you, Richard..." her mother's voice floats through the veil in a tone that is on the edge of becoming high pitched, "...we can't be living so close to a Walgreens. Look at her! We're just enabling her by living here, with that big, red W flashing right across the street."
"We're not enabling her, Martha," There's a wary edge to Richard's generally rational and calm voice, "First off, sugar isn't a drug. And she wants to do this to herself, it doesn't have anything to do with the Walgreens...We've done everything we could. We've been throwing money at psychiatrists since these binges have started...and the insurance bills are going crazy with all this hospital talk. I can't even stand to see another IV needle. I think it's time we let the psychiatrist put her in a-"
"No. She's not crazy. There must be some reason for it. It's been happening since she was so young...and...and she can control it. It's-it's controllable...we can help her...and...it's my fault anyways, I shouldn't leave money lying around.." Martha frantically searched for and alternitave answer that hadn't already been refuted, "If a psychiatrist outside of a hospital can't help her, what will a psychiatrist inside a hospital do for her?"
"Martha," He sighed, "They'll be able to monitor her. We can't do that. We both need to work. To support her. At least we'll know that she's safe-not abusing her body...if it was drugs you would have said yes in a heartbeat."
"Drugs aren't a grey area, but sugar-sugar is...kids are just..."
"Kids like sugar, but our daughter is diabetic- that's not ok."
"She's just trying to be normal."
"Comas are normal?"
Somewhere in the middle of the conversation she had lost the urge to laugh. Behind the veil she could only picture the concerned faces of her mother and father. She wished she could writhe and protest about the decision they were making, but the darkness was becoming more and more blinding.
As the parametics arrived to the familiar address, she let herself slip into the gaping hole of her choices, the sickening taste of corn syrup and candy cocaine sticking to every tastebud.
--Julie
She's not sure exactly why she does it, but ever since the age of seven she's been self inducing these diabetic atrocities. Every time it's a different candy- at the beginning it was candy dots; easy enough to devour just because there were so many interesting and intricate patterns in which she could eat them. She'd eat the pinks first, then the blues, then the greens, then the yellows on the first roll, then eat the next roll like a pack man- following the sugary specks around and around and around from the outside edge to the center, in a continuous stream of munching.
The most challenging candy coma by far was Mr. Wonka's supposedly ever lasting gobstoppers, which, disappointingly, were everything but everlasting and released quasi unbearable shots of ridiculously sweet powdered sugar that made her teeth hurt and her gag reflex retaliate. That time, waking up in the hospital with the dreaded IV needle lodged in her veins was a trophy of the sweet victory against her body- against all odds, she managed to force almost three hundred of the gross little orbs into her bloodstream.
Through the veil of the coma, she can hear her mother shrieking and feel her body twitching. The conversation between her parents makes her want to laugh, but the saccharine paralysis has already flooded through her face.
"I'm telling you, Richard..." her mother's voice floats through the veil in a tone that is on the edge of becoming high pitched, "...we can't be living so close to a Walgreens. Look at her! We're just enabling her by living here, with that big, red W flashing right across the street."
"We're not enabling her, Martha," There's a wary edge to Richard's generally rational and calm voice, "First off, sugar isn't a drug. And she wants to do this to herself, it doesn't have anything to do with the Walgreens...We've done everything we could. We've been throwing money at psychiatrists since these binges have started...and the insurance bills are going crazy with all this hospital talk. I can't even stand to see another IV needle. I think it's time we let the psychiatrist put her in a-"
"No. She's not crazy. There must be some reason for it. It's been happening since she was so young...and...and she can control it. It's-it's controllable...we can help her...and...it's my fault anyways, I shouldn't leave money lying around.." Martha frantically searched for and alternitave answer that hadn't already been refuted, "If a psychiatrist outside of a hospital can't help her, what will a psychiatrist inside a hospital do for her?"
"Martha," He sighed, "They'll be able to monitor her. We can't do that. We both need to work. To support her. At least we'll know that she's safe-not abusing her body...if it was drugs you would have said yes in a heartbeat."
"Drugs aren't a grey area, but sugar-sugar is...kids are just..."
"Kids like sugar, but our daughter is diabetic- that's not ok."
"She's just trying to be normal."
"Comas are normal?"
Somewhere in the middle of the conversation she had lost the urge to laugh. Behind the veil she could only picture the concerned faces of her mother and father. She wished she could writhe and protest about the decision they were making, but the darkness was becoming more and more blinding.
As the parametics arrived to the familiar address, she let herself slip into the gaping hole of her choices, the sickening taste of corn syrup and candy cocaine sticking to every tastebud.
--Julie
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