Last month in a diabetes facebook discussion, I made a confession that I hadn't told ANYONE before that moment, "I haven't taken a bath in a tub since being diagnosed because I'm scared."
Now, I want to be clear and say, that I have taken showers everyday. The fear of tub baths occurred the night before I was diagnosed with diabetes when I passed out in the tub.
On Valentine's night 2011, I knew a couple of things...
I knew that I was ill. I knew that I was extremely tired. I knew that I needed help.
But I didn't know what was wrong with me. I didn't know that the fatigue I felt wasn't from working long hours. I didn't know that my glucose levels were over 600.
So, in my not knowing what was wrong, I ran hot water into my tub. Believing that the water would revive me, rescue me, or wash away the feeling of tiredness, I entered the tub feet first and then allowed the water to surround my entire body as I prayed for energy.
I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, allowed the hot water to swaddle me, and everything went BLANK.
When I opened my eyes, I didn't know where I was, what happened, or why I was in a tub of cold water. Then, very slowly, I remembered. I remembered that I was in my own apartment. That I had been very tired. That the cold water I found myself soaking in was actually hot when I got in it. When I realized that I could not, for the life of me, figure out how long I had been in the tub, I knew then that I had loss consciousness and passed out.
(As the story goes, the next day I couldn't stand up and was wheeled into the ER and told that I was on my way into a diabetic coma).
Yesterday, I decided to take a bath in my tub and...
as I placed my feet into the warm water, sat down, and submerged myself I cried. I cried thinking about how innocently I had gotten into that tub two years ago not knowing that I could have been found dead there. I cried thinking about how God blessed me to open my eyes one more time. I cried thinking about how there must be a purpose for my life that I haven't fulfilled. I cried at every flashback of that night. I cried thinking that Whitney Houston's final moments were in the tub like mine could have been.
And, when I stopped crying, I leaned back, rested, and prayed. After about 45 minutes, feeling emotionally drained, I exited from the tub. I am not sure when I'll do it again because of how emotional it was for me, but I did recall all my favorite aspects of sit down baths so I know that it will be in less than two years.
Additionally, I noticed that after almost an hour, the water was still warm. By my estimate, it would take at least 2.5 hours for a tub of hot water to become as cool as the water was that I woke up in on that Valentine's day. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never know how long I lay passed out in the tub and I'm okay with that now.
Blessed to be alive.