Walking through the town, not far from the Cathedral grounds, my legs are very heavy. I tumble to my knees and close my eyes.
The rain soaks through my cardigan and my sandals are a waste of time. My clothes stick to me like tissue paper. I don’t care. I cannot feel. The rain is warm, or is it sweat? Runs down my neck, back and the backs of my legs. I vaguely notice a few people step over me in their hurry to say their prayers. Their words echo senselessly.
“Jeeeesus – look at her!”
“It shouldn’t be allowed; In the Cathedral grounds too! Has anyone called the police?
“Where’s security? They’re supposed to get rid of riff raff”
“Someone ought to do something about this. This town is full of damn drunks and druggies”.
“I’m glad I live in the Mendips”.
The echoes fade out. A wet dark blanket of stillness muffles the world and covers my face. The grass pricks my mouth. It tastes like angelica strips. And then black.
“Hellloooo” Hello, Kate – can you hear me?” Has someone got her bag?”
I scrunch my eyes closed. Light so harsh. Voices too loud. It is comfortable on the ground. Not so wet. Where is this ground?
“Kate. Kate, it’s ok – you’re going to be alright. Have you got an emergency number? Who’s your GP?” What a question. How would I know the answer?
I hear hard footsteps. The grassy ground is gone. This floor is made of wood. I sense shadows through my closed eyelids. I suppose they are still stepping over me.
I hear more questions and worry those angry people from before might put me in a skip. I open one eye, slowly, fuzzily. And see an arm. I think it is mine. Covered in blood with a plastic tube sticking out of the vein inside my elbow.
“Sorry, Kate – couldn’t get the canula in first time. Made a bit of a mess I’m afraid. You’ll have a lovely bruise tomorrow.” He sounds professionally jolly.
“Do you know where you are?”
(Of course not. I did not lie down on this floor. In this big room. I do not know anything.)
“You’re inside the Refectory.” (where?)
“Someone found you on the ground outside the Cathedral and managed to get you in here before you passed out. It was raining.”
“My name is Jim. I’m a paramedic. I’ve put some glucose in your arm because you were having a hypoglycemic seizure and could not swallow anything.”
I am silent. What can I say? How do I speak? Nothing makes sense. That awful feeling of wanting to disappear creeps into my throat. The shame. The scratchy tears climb up the back of my nose to the bottom of my eyes. Oh to be dry and warm. The warm wet has gone cold and I am shivering. They put a foil blanket around me, like an oven ready chicken.
“Blood glucose is up to 2.3. Let’s give her another 5 minutes…”
I close my eyes and hope I will be dead before I open them again.
“Ahh – that’s good – it’s come up to 3.7…
– Can you speak now, Kate?”
This happened earlier this year. I made a full recovery. Sent a thank you letter and gift to the stranger who found me and rang the ambulance. My gratitude to Jim (not his real name), the paramedic. I have had Type 1 Diabetes for 43 years and it still catches me out sometimes. Sharing this tale with you as part of Diabetes Awareness Month. If you or a loved one have diabetes or other long term health condition that affects your confidence, connect with me. I am experienced at working with clients to overcome challenges.