Terror at Gate A10

This is a travelogue of sorts but one that terrified me ... perhaps terrorlogue is a better name.

On Monday morning, I woke up my kids early, 6 a.m. early, bathed them hurriedly, dressed them in clothes I had set out the night before - Wow! That's a first! - and herded them to our van. We were off to the airport in Houston for our midmorning flight to Minnesota. Breakfast was eaten in the car, though I tested Graham's blood sugar and gave him insulin before we started driving.

Most of the drive, Graham complained of being thirsty. Unfortunately, I did not have any extra beverages ... other than what he had already had. I suppose that's poor planning. Oh well - I was up half the night packing, assembling and getting everything else ready, so I can't really blame myself. I thought we had enough to drink but I didn't have extras in the carry on bag since airports no longer let travelers bring drinks past the security checks. Also, Graham sometimes complains in the 'crying wolf' way ... and yes, sometimes I think it's important to toughen him up. We all need to trot out the "When I was a kid ..." stories in these moments, right? ("When I was a kid, we didn't have any water to drink.")

I mention this thirst detail only to point out that Graham was not feeling well before we got to the airport. Perhaps something was off even then. On the shuttle van to the airport (we parked at an airport parking spot), he looked ashen and weak, so as soon as we got into the airport, I purchased him a bottle of water.

"Wow - lemon twist, Mom!" he said, happily glugging it down, even though he kept dropping his bag.

We made it through check in, navigated the security line (and with all of our stuff: lotion, insulin, laptop etc., we usually fill 7 of those gray plastic trays), and headed toward our gate, but Graham continued to feel sick. He was also behaving very strangely. Well, maybe "very" is too strong. Graham was jumping, twisting, falling and yelling, and although he does that kind of stuff on a regular day, it seemed off this day.

We had just a few minutes before our flight would be boarded, and I was called to the desk to receive my seat assignments. (They had to be changed because we had originally been assigned exit row seats.) The airline rep placed us in three separate rows, and when I protested that I had children, she softly suggested that I try to trade on the plane.

This is not a good situation for me. I am loathe to confront people in spite of or because of the fact that I'm boiling inside. At this moment, I think that she's being a lunatic and absolutely unfair. I think that it will be impossible for me to coordinate switching seats between three rows. I'm also annoyed because I have one DVD player and it cannot be split between three rows. So I don't know what to say.

I look back and see Graham sliding down a wall, and I call to Annie to watch him as I hurry back over. I am not proud to admit this, but I looked at Graham and said, quite firmly, "Are you goofing off? Is this a joke, Graham? This isn't funny at all."
He was rolling around looking for his shoe, and it made me feel scared that it was right next to his foot but he couldn't see it.

He said, "I feel weird to talk about sports now" in a slurred voice.

Okay. That's not goofing off. But I was very confused because our meter readers kept giving me very high numbers: 474 then HI which means above 500. In fact, I had given him insulin to correct the 474. His behavior, however, was consistent with low blood sugar. Sometimes extreme hypoglycemia looks like intoxication, and now, thinking back, I see that this is what Graham's behavior looked like. It's also possible that he was cycling downward for some unexplained reason - I don't think we will ever know if the meter was correct or not. Just another part of the guessing game that is diabetes.

Graham definitely knew that something wasn't right because when we first arrived at our gate but after he'd glugged the water, he asked me to test his blood sugar, and that isn't something he frequently requests.

I didn't realize that he was hypoglycemic at the time, however. I thought that he was having a brain aneurysm or something like that. I told the same airline rep that I needed to see a doctor and that we couldn't get on the flight. "Is he sick?" she asked, and as we both turned to look at Graham, he fell sharply, striking his head on the wall before falling on the ground.

"Oh no," she said, as I ran over to him and helped him down ... or up, actually. My poor boy was so confused. He kept smiling a crooked smile as though he was trying his best. I felt absolutely horrible that I'd made him drag his carry on all around our gate, trying to keep up with me, when he was clearly very ill. Sometimes I walk too fast and miss too much. We sat on the ground with me holding his head.

At this point, he needed to go to the bathroom. We tried to stagger across the open walkway but he could not stand up or even lean on me. He fell over in the bathroom entryway, and I could not keep him up. In fact, two flight attendants from a different airline ran over to ask me what was wrong. They quickly procured a cookie and O.J. and helped me get Graham onto the floor safely. Let's just say that I was more impressed with them than the rep from our airline.

Still, I do not judge. I don't know if I would be good in someone else's medical emergency. I barely made it through this one.

Needless to say, we didn't get on the plane. (I cannot imagine trying to deal with this in three separate rows. What a nightmare!)

Graham was lying on the ground by our carry on bags, resting his head on Annie's stuffed dog. I was crying and Annie gave me a very tender hug, then we both tried to help him. The helpful flight attendants said, "Keep talking to him, keep him talking," so Annie rubbed his shirt and said very sweetly, "Graham, tell me about the Spiderman 4 villains. Who are they?"

(This absolutely touches my heart because Graham has been focused on those villains this past week to the nth degree and we have heard the list many, many, a zillion times. Annie already knew that he would say Carnage, Electro, the Lizard and possibly the Hobgoblin. Annie knew just what to ask him ... and she said it with love and kindness.)

During this time, this time of crossing eyes and delirious looks, the EMTs were called, and the first two arrived. Again, I'm no medical pro, but I have a strong feeling that I wouldn't look at a pale, sick boy, near unconsciousness, stretched on the ground or at his teary-eyed mother, blathering about diabetic meter readings and then say, with a drawl straight out of Hollywood, "Well, I don't quite know what we can do for you. Did he have a good breakfast?"

"Yes, yes," I said. "He ate some chicken and milk and a biscuit. That's not the problem."

"He's a type 1 diabetic," I added urgently, but the man did not seem to understand what that meant at all. Average Joe probably doesn't know. Heck, I didn't know three years ago. But this was an EMT. I'm guessing that he should have or would have encountered an unstable diabetic before. Thankfully, the next two EMTs arrived and these fellows were Houston firefighters. They knew what they were doing. They roused Graham from his eye-fluttering slumber and tried to engage him with questions. They noticed that his speech was slurred and they tested him again. His BG had dropped from HI to 128 (a huge, bizarre drop) to 68 in a matter of minutes. And it kept dropping ... 47 in the ambulance and 43 in the hospital after a glucose IV.

Once he was at the hospital, things got a bit better. The glucose IV did the trick and he came out of the confused state. It still took hours, however, to bring his blood sugar up to 78. In fact, he was on that IV for over four hours before the level rose. (That's very unusual, perplexingly unusual. Even the ER doctor did not know why Graham's BG was hovering in the danger zone.) Kyle's parents arrived, and then Kyle arrived. Graham perked up and asked at least 50 times if the IV could be removed. The nurse was a good sport about it, and even brought him a plate of boiled turkey and steamed veggies for lunch.

Then the Littlefields went out and brought him back a cheeseburger and milkshake. Much better.

One of the miracles of the day was that I was able to find a wireless connection in the hospital just long enough to get the airline phone number. After a couple of calls and some pleasant requests, we were able to get on the last flight from Houston to Minneapolis on Northwest. The customer rep made sure I knew that he was "making an exeception" and had to get a "waiver", but it all worked out.

Of course, at this point, we had no faith in the meter, and the Littlefields took me by Walmart to buy another one before boarding the plane. (I'm still not sure if it was wrong or not since I tested him on the new and old meters multiple times to see if they matched ... and sometimes they did and sometimes they didn't.)

So many little details that add up to some kind of meaning.

I cannot complain too much of feeling alone this past year because for a single mother, I sure have a lot of people helping and supporting me - in laws, Kyle, my family, friends galore, thoughtful ward members, friendly people at school. But at the airport, I felt startlingly alone, frighteningly alone with only passive workers and busy travelers. I had to make the call and figure out what the best course of action was. I feel sad that I didn't see the hypoglycemic symptoms for what they were even earlier. I feel guilty that I was annoyed Graham couldn't find his shoes. But I am grateful that all turned out fine, and for those hours in the ER, we were there as some kind of patched together family. But those hours before the hospital were among the worst - and by that, I mean alone - in my life.

And then we flew off to be with people who love us. Life is good, even when it's hard.