It started basically just like any other day. You couldn’t tell from its beginning what it would bring, and how it would come so close to damaging our lives irreparably. That’s how life is when you have a diabetic in your midst; particularly one who doesn’t take care of his diet, and who doesn’t follow doctor’s orders.

In retrospect, it’s hard to imagine that a tiny incident, over in a matter of seconds, almost rendered my husband a permanent invalid, but for the grace of God . . .

The Event

So what was this event? My husband, a diabetic of fifteen years, and very poorly controlled, was touring his latest building site. He suddenly noticed that there was a piece of wood attached to the sole of his foot. As he has a degree of peripheral neuropathy, he felt no pain, but knew he must have stepped on a nail. Since he was in a hurry to go to a meeting, he pulled the plank away from his foot, finished arrangements with his workmen, and took off.

That was in the late afternoon. Around eleven O’clock that night, he came home tired and hungry. I fed him, and as we were chatting, he casually mentioned what had happened on the building site earlier. He showed me the small puncture mark, which at that point in time wasn’t even pink, never mind red. I was horrified and told him he should go to the emergency room there and then. He laughed at me. “What for?” he asked.

He went on like this for a few days.

Crisis Point

Eventually he was getting impatient at me for nagging. I was distraught. In the end, and most predictably, infection set in. On the advice of a doctor friend (who he spoke with on the phone), he got himself some strong antibiotics. By this time, five days after the event, it was too late. The antibiotics didn’t stand a chance against the raging infection that rapidly took hold. By the next morning he could hardly stand, and needed someone to help him walk.

Aggressive Medicine

He gave in and went to the hospital. Even I was surprised at the speed with which they admitted him. They began intravenous antibiotics immediately. We all stood by with baited breath. The first type didn’t seem to be doing anything, so the doctors (by this time there were three or four on his case), decided to try a stronger one. When I stood by on the second morning, I could see the concern on the doctors’ faces. They were trying to keep his morale high, as of course this is essential to any patient. On the third day they decided to perform surgery to clean out the wound and try and give the antibiotics a better chance of beating the infection. By this time we were on our fourth different type of antibiotics.

Truth Dawns

My husband, previously oblivious to his plight, smiling and cheerful, and highly attentive to visitors, was beginning to see that this could all go horribly wrong. I knew exactly what the score was, and every time they brought in a new, stronger type of antibiotic, I would grab the vial to read its name. I knew that when we reached Vancomycin, we would have reached the end of the line.

Immediately upon admission, the endocrinologist insisted that my husband follow the special diet that was written for him. The reason this was so critical is that if blood sugars are high, the infection (any infection) actually feeds on the glucose in the blood and grows stronger. This is, in a nutshell, why infections of any kind are so devastating to diabetics. Besides, this was a wonderful opportunity; they’d been trying to bring his blood sugars under control for years, and now he was just where they wanted him!