Red Room Where the Writers Are

Just before the end of the world (Y2K bug, remember that?) I found out I had Diabetes. I was misdiagnosed by my doctor who told me that he couldn't figure out if I was type I (because usually little kids get that) or if I was type II (because usually older adults with weight problems get that). Since I was 32 and 155 lbs it seemed unlikely I was either, so he put me on a medication that would work for both by limiting glucose production of my Liver. (glucophage: I never fully appreciated the definition of flatulence until I took that drug).

It worked for a while. I controlled my blood sugar through diet and exercise and began to lose weight which was rather unfortunate for a 6'4” guy who only weighed 155 lbs.

In January of 2K my wife of 20 months decided it was time to call it quits for reasons which remain mostly a mystery to this day. She cleaned out the bank accounts and left without warning or even a note. I had just made an appointment to meet a new doctor: a diabetes specialist in San Leandro. I kept that appointment even though I really didn't want to.

I wanted to curl up and let death take me, but for some reason I fought it. I tell myself I fought to prevent my "turn coat" soon to be ex-wife from getting everything, but I think that was just an excuse for wanting to go on. I think I knew all this was necessary and some little part of me accepted it all, gracefully.

My new doctor ran some tests and said, “Come back in a week and we'll figure out how to treat you.” I weighed 148 lbs when he weighed me that day.

A week later he weighed me again: 138 lbs. For those of you who know the tech details: my G1AC which was around 9 in September when I was diagnosed, was now in control, 6ish I think, but I was losing weight fast.

My new doctor looked at me wide eyed and said, “you lost ten pounds in a week!”

I replied, “That's why I'm here, Doc,”

Suffice to say that I started insulin in April and have been using it ever since.

In February of 2000 I found an Internet forum about divorce at about.com. Those folks really helped me. Then I created my own forum called, “Walking the Path.” The short stories I wrote for my forum ended up in “At the Gates...”

The first story about the blind child named Claire expressed the emotions I felt during the first half of 2000. Every character in the story represents some aspect of me: from the old man who lost the love he only wished to protect, to the blind child who knows no evil, to the somewhat careless and distracted mother running to catch up and undo her mistakes, to the bully child who lied to protect himself and even to the dog catcher who just wants to do his job.

Someone offered to publish it if I gave it a happy ending. But I couldn't change it because I didn't know the end of my story, thus why would I want the reader to know the end of Claire's?

I wrote “At the Gates of Heaven” because of the trolls who haunted the spiritual forums where I hung out. I couldn't understand how people could remain ignorant on purpose. I was born ignorant but I outgrew it as fast as I could.

These short stories were one of the ways I coped with my life experience at the time. I grew to understand myself better and I learned how to better express feelings in printed word.