The hazy room could almost smell like a Winter morning in England, except that the aroma made one’s face grimace in rejection. 11:00 AM, and his sweaty tank shirt was screaming for mercy. His barely open eyes glanced at the alarm clock, hoping to see a smaller number. He arose, perhaps too quickly, his head pounding from last night’s excesses.
A sharp pain shot from his foot to his head. Dam! I keep forgetting to sweep the dam floor! The slump, tired drag to the bathroom had become routine. It felt like an agonizing inevitability of his daily life. So many missed interviews and unfinished stories.
The faithful reflection hit those green eyes hard. Days of abandonment took their toll, and every day that passed became another layer of diminished motivation, unrealized goals, and forgotten joys.
But this morning, something felt different. Mike’s mind swelled with an uneasiness he had not felt before. Somehow, out of nowhere, the razor found its cream, and warm water was poured over the week’s grime. Afterwards, the feet felt protected, and the courage to really look at the mess took hold.
Man, how could it have gone this far? He thought. It was as if somehow, he had awoken from a long, disdainful nightmare. An aroma penetrated through the half-opened bedroom door. Ah, coffee! Carefully navigating through weeks of obstacles, milk and sucralose were added.
With newfound vigor, the broom relentlessly scooped the floor of dislocated debris, and the trash can rejoiced with renewed activity. Scattered laundry was washed, and surfaces were wiped clean. By 2:30 PM this Wednesday, he felt like a stranger in his own apartment. You did it, Mike! This time, the warm shower felt like a well-deserved relief.
As he settled down to gulp some more coffee and enjoy a microwave burrito, his gaze drifted to a recent newspaper clipping lying on the top right corner of the table. Yes, years of journalistic work had taught him the value of actual paper clippings. Even in 2015, with hundreds of files tucked away in his Dell Inspiron Mini 9 laptop, they were considered a necessary evil for journalistic reporting.
The news clip pertained to a press release about a new generic version of Glurelix, the only FDA-approved medication for treating type 2 Diabetes. Hah! My dad trusted this Glurelix too much!
Michael Carter was diagnosed in 2006 and has been on Glurelix since. Through the years, bouts of acid reflux (GERD), indigestion, fatigue, and depression have been his constant companions. Endless nights of interrupted sleep due to bathroom visits and restlessness have taken a toll on his overall health and energy.
He'd been collecting all kinds of articles about Diabetes and how it slowly but relentlessly damages organs and spreads mayhem throughout the body. He blames Diabetes for his downhill career path. His declining health led to countless missed interviews and unfinished stories; opportunities that slipped away as his strength faded.
Mike’s living conditions were also not ideal. His apartment sits on the second floor of a pre-war walk-up on Saratoga Avenue; its brick façade was weathered and patched from decades of city wear. The building hums with life; kids shouting in the courtyard, a neighbor’s radio bleeding through the walls, and the occasional siren slicing through the night.
Today, the urge to do something about it rose from the depths of his journalistic mind. He remembered his prior research at the library regarding the development of Meridian’s Glurelix. At the time, he had concentrated on the research, but now he thought, I really need to follow the people involved in this!
The desire to get to the bottom of why a medication that’s supposed to help you control Diabetes could actually contribute to declining health.
His closet was a mess, but he managed to find a clean shirt that was not in dire need of ironing and his favorite go-to jeans. Out the door, he catches the B35 bus to the library at Church and New York Avenue, a short 14-minute ride. Looking out the bus window, he thought, Nothing much has changed since Dad passed.
He will never forget standing next to his dad’s bed at the hospital. The dim light in the room that cold, late December 2005 night is etched forever in his mind. Lying in a coma, his diabetes had turned into a deadly sepsis. Dad was his hero, his mentor. Mike noticed a pocket notepad popping out of his dad’s shirt hanging in the open closet, an item he never left home without. A veteran of the Vietnam War, he learned that perseverance was his friend. After the war, Denzel Carter had an illustrious career in Journalism. Being African American was not going to stop him from getting access to the most relevant events of the 1980s and ‘90s. Being on insulin was not enough to control his numbers.
In 1995, Denzel was put on Meridian’s Glurelix. The new medication encouraged him to stop the insulin. However, his glucose numbers were never under control. So, in late 2005, Denzel fell while chasing an elusive CEO and tore open his left ankle. At 65, his open ankle wound was very slow to heal, and that Winter, he was hospitalized due to swelling in both his legs. It only took two days for the infection in his ankle to spread. Despite fluids and antibiotics, he fell into a coma. Mike felt helpless. His own Glucose numbers had always hovered at high levels (over 300), and he feared succumbing to the same fate as his father.
With renewed vigor, Mike made a beeline to the microfiche room. This December was not going to be like the others.