A week later, Roadblock walked into the diabetic clinic of Memorial Hospital. He followed the directions that were in the packet that Nurse Maggie had given him. He also had the insulin pump that Doc had promised. The army doctor had suggested that Roadblock find out from the clinic how to set it up and maintain it.
He felt out of place, like he did not belong. However, he knew that Nurse Maggie would have his hide if he went AWOL for the day. He walked up to the reception clerk and registered. Then, the clerk sent him to a room.
The room was fairly large, with a big conference table and two dozen chairs around it. There are about fifteen people there, and they made him fell even more out of place. Many were obese, some morbidly. A few were elderly, and there was a mother trying to keep a toddler entertained. Roadblock sat near the mother.
"Hi," she greeted him with a warm smile.
Roadblock went to answer back, but further introductions were interrupted by the entrance of a nurse.
"Hello everyone, welcome to Memorial Hospital's diabetic teaching class," she said. "For most of you, it is your first time here. Here is how we will proceed. Each of you will meet with a nurse individually. You will be called in alphabetical order. Then you will come back here. We will have a presentation on the consequences of miss managed diabetes. After, there will be a fifteen minute break and snacks. You will be asked to check your blood sugar before you eat. Then we will discuss the causes of diabetes. We will stop for lunch. You will be asked to check your blood sugar levels, and record which meal you have chosen, and how much you have eaten of it. This afternoon, we will discuss nutrition. The afternoon break and snack will be at 3:00. Afterwards, we will have a question and answer session. Finally, you will meet with the nurse again, once done you will be able to leave. Don't worry if you lost track of any of this, we will tell you what to do as we go." The nurse had rattled all of the information off without appearing to take a breath.
As if on cue, three other nurses entered the room, two female, one male.
The youngest nurse called out: "Peter Chilton."
The other woman requested: "Rita Emerson."
"Marvin Hilton."
Roadblock followed the male nurse to a small exam room.
"Hi, Marvin, my name is Carson. I will be your nurse for today." He glanced at Roadblock's file. "It says here you are army."
"Yes, sir."
"And you lost your pancreas due to injury."
"A bullet, sir."
The nurse glanced up at the large man, smiling at him. "You don't have to use Sir
"Yes, S… Okay."
"First, I'll take your weight and body measurements to check your BMI. Although, in your case your body mass at this point is not an issue. You'll be hearing a lot about the importance of maintaining a healthy body weight and weight loss. In your case, I suspect that maintaining your muscle mass will be the challenge. If you don't manage your condition right, you will start to loose muscle. Have you noticed any weight loss?"
"I went down while recovering. Now, I am almost back to my starting point."
Blood was drawn, urine samples taken to check for proteins and ketones. "I suggest you check your urine for sugar, especially if you notice that it smells sweet." The nurse said. "Do you have any questions at this point?"
"I feel like I should be keeping notes," Roadblock said.
"You'll leave here with a binder with all the information that we are going to tell you today. There will also be phone numbers to call when you have questions. Is there anything else?"
"Well, Doc gave me this before I left and told me you guys would show me how to use it." Roadblock held out the insulin pump.
The nurse whistled, "Ooo! The infuser 2000!"
"It is good?" Roadblock asked.
"Newest one on the market. Expensive too. I've only seen a demo unit. Did you read the manual that comes with it?"
"Some, but it is kind of confusing." Roadblock handed the booklet to the nurse.
"I can show you the basics of setting it up. I'll read the details over lunch, and we can go through it all this afternoon."
Carson showed Roadblock how to set up the pump, and insert the small tube. In the beginning, the cook could feel the tube under his skin. It was a little annoying. He was also dubious at having to move it every few days to a new location. However, by the time he returned to the main room to wait for the next part of the clinic, he no longer noticed the presence of the intruding instrument. He even forgot that the pump itself was strapped to his upper left arm. Nurse Carson had explained that he could also wear the pump on his belt or around his leg above his ankle. The Infuser 2000 came with all the straps and pouches for all those locations. Roadblock decided he preferred it around his upper arm. His chef uniform had short sleeves, so accessing it was easy. He also felt that it was more sanitary than reaching down to pull up a pant leg. The belt pouch offered something that could be bumped, hooked, or have something dumped on it.
In the common room, Roadblock sat back down by the mother and her toddler.
"Still waiting for your turn?" he asked her, looking to make conversation.
"We go last. My name is Gina." She held out her hand.
"R…Marvin." He shook her hand.
"I've never seen you before, is it your fist time here?"
Roadblock nodded. "It is not your fist time here?"
She shook her head, smiling a little. "We come back every four to six weeks."
"Why do people come back?"
"Some find that it is too much information the first time around. Others get sent back by their doctors, or dragged back by love ones because they are not managing their diabetes."
"And you?" He could not help but asking.
"Peter here has juvenile diabetes. We found out when he was six months. My husband had been working two jobs, but none have any health coverage. So making ends meet, while making sure that Peter gets the insulin and supplies he needs is not easy. The hospital can not officially help us out. But the director of the clinic has agreed to let us come back as often as she can get us in. They cover the cost of strips and insulin for the day. Sometimes they slip me a few extra strips and the end of vials of insulin. We also get lunch out of it."
Trough the day, Roadblock and Gina became friends. Before having her son, she ran a small catering company. She became a stay at home mom, because she could not afford any daycare facility or sitter that would take care of Peter's medical needs. Instead, she managed the money that came in with an iron hand to make sure Peter got what he needed, and her husband and she got to eat at least two meals a day.
They talked about food, and the challenges of preparing meals for a large group of people on time and on a budget. They shared stories of their cooking experiences and even a few recipes.
During the day, Roadblock was amazed at how the woman kept her busy toddler entertained, while keeping him from disrupting any of sessions. Peter was as active as any toddler Roadblock had ever met. He looked happy and healthy. The only time he threw a fit is when he saw the insulin pen come out.
"Some day, I hope I can get him an insulin pump," Gina said, as she expertly held Peter down with one hand and injected him using the other. "Maybe when he is in school, and I can start my catering business again."
At the end of the day, Roadblock was dazed by all the information that he had gotten. Some had been quite graphic, like the pictures of gangrene and amputated limbs. He was grateful to have a binder of information to take back with him to base. He was already getting use to the pump, and really liked that he did not have to inject himself any more.
However, what stayed with him as he drove back to the PIT, were the images of Gina and Peter. Something changed in him. Up until that point, although he had not consciously admitted it, he had felt self pity for himself. He was no longer the soldier he once was. He was stuck serving his country behind a stove and pots. He would never again experience the adrenaline rush of field work. He had to constantly think about what he was eating, and how much insulin he needed. He had to endure needle pricks and injections. If he was less than vigilant, he landed in the infirmary. If he let himself go, he would wind up like the skinny lifeless old man that has been at the diabetic teaching clinic with him.
What Roadblock came to realise and accept during his ride 'home', was that when he signed the recruiter's documents, he accepted the possibility that he could be hurt in the line of duty. When he accepted a position with G.I. Joe, he knew the odds of it happening had gone up considerably. Thinking back to his Christmas visits to the Joe's long term care facility, he had gotten off pretty easy. He could still walk, talk, and work for the team. By feeding the troupes, he did his part in fighting COBRA. Men trained and fought better on full stomachs, and having something good to eat at the same time made it that much better.
Peter had not signed on any dotted line to get diabetes. His parents had not done anything for him to be afflicted with the disease. Roadblock had spoken to Nurse Carson, and he had confirmed Gina and Peter's story. Here was an American family fighting a battle. It was different than fighting terrorist, but diabetes was the body's terrorist in its own right. They also fought against the lack of funded health care. Unlike them, Roadblock never had to worry about having enough money for medication or supplies.
When he had signed up to serve his country, he had understood he could get hurt. Now, he accepted that reality and all its consequences. For everyone who had not signed up to become diabetics, he would do his absolute best manage his condition. He would be grateful every day to have an employer that provided him with the medical care he required.
Over the years and decades that followed, now and again Roadblock's resolve to manage his condition would slip a little. He experienced bouts of frustration and a bit of depression, especially when he would get ill for reasons that were outside of his control. However, he would always think about little Peter and other diabetic people he met along the years. He counted his blessings and kept on going. He was a soldier and this was the war he was given to fight. He knew he would probable never win it, but he intended on winning as many battles as he could.