Username of the writer: PatrickJay
Do you believe in miracles? If you had asked me three years ago if I believed in miracles, I would have told you that miracles are not real. I grew up in a religious family. We went to church every Sunday and thanked Christ before every meal. As a child, I did not quite understand the importance of faith and believing in how powerful Christ’s love for us can be. I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes when I was just 18 months old. For most of my childhood, I found myself asking the Lord, why me?
Diabetes, just like any serious illness, can be a scary disease to live with. I remember having dreams when I was a child. I would be wandering through the woods during these dreams, hearing a voice telling me to pick up sticks. “Keep picking up sticks. Keep searching for sticks.” I would then be woken by my mother, encouraging me to drink juice while my father pricked my finger and tested my blood sugar. My parents called these bad dreams, referring to the hypoglycemic attack due to my blood sugar being too low.
Hypoglycemia is when the blood sugar becomes too low, and when the blood sugar drops to a certain point, it can be fatal. As a young child, I would have been unable to save myself from a bad dream. Every time I had a bad idea, it was always the same: keep picking up sticks. Who’s voice was it telling me to pick up sticks? Why did I even need to pick up sticks? The fact that my parents were able to get to me before my blood sugar dropped too low is a miracle in itself. You can read about the effects of hypoglycemia, but what they do not tell you is what it is like for diabetes to have dangerously low blood sugar. Later in life, I would learn that the voice telling me to keep picking up sticks was, in other words, telling me to keep going.
When my sugars begin to drop, I will start to feel weak and a bit sweaty and cold. The further the blood sugar drops, the more vulnerable and tired I became and with shaky hands and the feeling of being unstable. Usually, this is when I get something to eat or drink that will raise my sugar. However, while I am sleeping in the middle of the night, I cannot feel the changes in my body, making low blood sugars even more dangerous. As I grew into adulthood and moved into my apartment, I have had several hypoglycemic events but have been able to wake up and correct the low blood sugar. This leaves me with one question, how am I able to keep saving myself?
As I got older, my bad dreams changed. Rather than having dreams about picking up sticks in the woods, they became more direct. It was as if the voice telling me to pick up sticks began telling me that it is not my time to go. The dreams felt as though I was being given a purpose. While my bad dreams have become less frequent due to better diabetes management, they still do happen, and three years ago has been the most terrifying yet.
I had just started my current job and went home to take a nap after work. Before I took a nap, I ate an apple and a few chips for a snack. I then gave myself a shot of insulin and dozed off. “Help! Help me!” Someone needs help, but where are they? I can hear them screaming, but all I see is darkness. Then I listened to that voice. The same voice that told me to pick up sticks. The same voice that told me it is not my time yet whispers, “You need to wake up. Wake up. This is not your time.”
I woke up lying on the floor outside my bedroom, drenched in sweat and shaking. The floor felt like it would fall from beneath me, and then I realized that I was the one in my dream screaming for help.
I had never had a hypoglycemic attack as bad as this one before. I was so weak that I could not stand, and if I tried, my legs would collapse, and I felt as though I were going to fall straight through the floor to the center of the earth. I do not know where the strength came from, but I could crawl downstairs to the kitchen to get a bottle of Gatorade to drink. It sounds crazy. How was I able to not only wake up but make it to the kitchen when my blood sugar was that low? According to doctors, based on how low my blood sugar got, I should be dead.
There is only one answer that made logical sense to me. It was Christ. Christ is the voice I heard telling me to keep picking up sticks. Christ told me to wake up and gave me the strength to keep going. Christ has kept me alive. I have a purpose in this life, and God has given me the message that I cannot give up until my mission here is complete. I still do not have an answer to why I was chosen to bear this disease, but I do know that it is something that I will continue to live with and do so with the guidance and protection of Jesus.
“By faith in the name of Jesus, this man whom you see and know was made strong. It is Jesus’ name and the faith that comes through him that has completely healed him, as you can all see”. Acts 3:16.
The Miracle of Christ Saved Me
Username of the writer: PatrickJay