Well, that’s not the exact truth. Suicide isn’t his INTENT. His INTENT is to use prayer to treat his high blood gucose. But killing himself may well be the consequence, though he may first pray himself into blindness, impotence, and amputations.
Here’s a little context. First of all, I have type-2 diabetes, which I discovered rather dramatically when I collapsed in a doctor’s office a few years back. My blood sugar was over 700, I am told, and I was very lucky to have collapsed before witnesses so I could be taken to the hospital rather than alone in my apartment where I would have probably died in peace. As you might imagine, this experience made me a believer in managing blood sugar proactively.
That was three years ago. Sometime after that, one of my brothers-in-law, “Ed,” was diagnosed as being “borderline diabetic.” That’s a phrase my doctor hates, by the way; she calls it the “let’s engage in denial for as long as possible to maximize the patient’s chances of losing a foot” diagnosis. Ed and I are not blood relatives, obviously, but he does have a blood relative who is diabetic–an uncle who recently had to have a foot chopped off. So you’d think he’d take the situation seriously; but, as he is only BORDERLINE diabetic, Ed and wife–my sister “Jean”–seem to think all is peachy. They have a diabetic cookbook but don’t like the recipes in it; they have a house full of sugar. But all is well, because they have PRAYED about it, bot at home and at church. The congregation has gathered around them; the pastor has laid hands and holy oil on Ed’s forehead. Surely all is well!
On Saturday, Jean came to visit; I wasn’t there, but my wife was. Jean asked about my blood-sugar control regimen, so Kim showed her my diabetes diary, wit info on diet, exercise, and meds. (Actually I only do the former two now, as I can generally keep my levels under 120 with just diet, exercise, and vigilance.) Kim also lent her my spare meter and showed her how to use it, going so far as to check the calibration to make sure it was registering accurately; she also called me, and I called Jean to add that I sprinkle a lot of cinnamononmy food. The cinnamon interested her, as Ed has just checked his own glocose for the first time in a month, and it was over 350.
“Put Ed on the phone,” I said. When the line changed hands, I went on, “Dude! Get your ass to the emergency room right now!”
“No, I don’t need to,” he replied. “It’s just cause I ate too much on Thanksgiving.”
“That was two days ago. If your pancreas were doing its job, it would have pumped out enough insulin to deal with that sugar days ago.”
“No, I’m all right,” Ed said. “I’ll just get on the treadmill and walk it off.”
“You sure? Have you been feeling fatigued lately? Peeing a lot–like every two hours? Feeling cranky?”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” he said. “But I can’t **possibly **have diabetes, Skald. We prayed about it at church, and I have claimed healing. It is God’s will that i be healed. Thanks for the information about the cinnamon, though.”
I tried further to persuade Ed to hie himself to a doctor, but he was sure he’d be fine; he wasn’t feeling nauseous or anything just that moment. He’d try to get to the doctor in a week or so, he added; he had to work at the church that afternoon and the next day, and as he is just coming off vacation, he doesn’t want to take any days off this week.
I called yesterday to see how he was doing. My sister told me they prayed for his healing again at church Sunday. And it seems to be working; his blood glucose had gone down to about 325. When I pointed out that meter readings can vary by a few percentage points or so between readings taken only moments apart, she repeated that to Ed. He took that to mean that blood glucose meters are unreliable. Anyway he’s not worried; their pastor has promised him healing.
I wonder if his pastor will promise to pay for my niece’s college education, not to mention her grief counseling when diabetes–abetted by prayer, denial, and stupidity–send her father to heaven earlier than he expects. :mad: