Nothing, Finally, Nothing

“Waaaaaaa” cried a baby.  I stretched and looked around, I saw a man with a newspaper, the Washington Times, the front page had a feature about a young woman who went to the hospital from collapsing on the street.  I looked down, the man dropped his paper, he picked it up.  I turned and looked past the passenger next to me and saw the sky.

An hour and a half into the 5 hour flight to San Diego I was comfortably seated in row 18 seat A, my Dad was next to me in seat 18B, an aisle seat.  This was an exit row, so with extra legroom and an early flight, we got an hour of sleep, played a quick game of Cribbage, and split a bagel. 

I went to the bathroom remembering my diagnosis.  Afterwards I immediately went back to my seat, buckled up and began watching Air Disaster season 1.  A plane was making an emergency landing in Anchorage, Alaska when the captain came on the intercom: “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be making our descent into San Diego in less than an hour, the local time 8:45 AM western standard time.  I would like to thank you for choosing US Air and hope you fly with us again soon.”

After US Air flight 438 belched us out at the airport I went to the restroom, five hours is a long time on a plane.  I saw a kid about my age walking back from the restroom and thought nothing of it.  We had a two hour twenty five minute layover before the final leg of the flight and sat down to lunch.  While eating I saw the same boy head back to the bathroom, only an hour after the first time.  After boarding the flight to Hawaii I saw the same boy go to the bathroom on the brand new 777-800er, another hour after the lunch observation.

I turned to my dad as he unloaded his briefcase into another exit row, “I bet that boy has raging uncontrolled diabetes.” We both laughed.  It was really nice to have a Gold boarding status member with you on a ten hour flight. 

About halfway to Hawaii the same boy popped out of his seat and wandered down the aisle, apparently aimlessly.  By then he was getting funny looks.  He collapsed.  Right there. On the floor.  I quickly unbuckled yet kept seated with my hands on my armrests because I was scared about what to do.  I thought to myself,  what is the issue, is he dead, how can I help, I hope he is okay. Oh my god. My head was still racing when I jumped up.  Other passengers were starting to look around and give me looks of disapproval.  As she came over I noticed another woman getting out of her seat beside the boy’s mother.  At about the same time I came up with my kit with my diabetes stuff, the flight attendant and the woman who turned out to be a doctor converged on the boy.  The doctor questioned me, “Is that a diabetic kit? If not, get out.”

I nodded yes.  The mother of the boy came over yet kept her distance and demanded to know what the doctor and I was doing.  I snapped, “She is saving your son.” “He is right,” proclaimed the doctor.

I tested his blood sugar from a meter handed to me from the inflight medkit. “It’s over 600!” I accidently shouted. I slammed my hand over my mouth as a reaction. The doctor was already rifling through the inflight medkit.  I looked around and saw that many passengers were looking at us, confused.  

“No insulin, darn it!” raged the doctor as she took out the right sized syringe and threw the medkit down the aisle unintentionally, taking out a passenger who was trying to take a picture.

“I have my pump cartridge,” I speak out helpfully while pulling my pump off my belt.

“That would work fine,” the doc said, grabbing the cartridge while plunging in the smallest needle she could find into the now patient.  After the shot the doctor left me and the flight attendant to the patient as she went to the cockpit door to talk about the need to land.  

As the flight descended through 5,000 feet, I saw clouds skimming the cool aluminum skin of the plane.  I smelled that plane smell that cannot be described.  Finally, I heard nothing, finally, nothing.

~ Marshall R.