As a young boy, I remember the day I woke up in a spiral. My thoughts gathered up and stuffed into a blender, grinded together until one. I looked into the stark white lights in the ceiling. Odd, my room used to have such warm lighting I wondered what had happened. I started noticing that much of my room had been renovated. It felt smaller, more compact. Things lined the differently colored walls of my room, I knew they were there yet I could not understand what my eyes were seeing. 

Before I knew it, figures warped into the room as if materializing from nothingness. Towering white cloaks circled me. I was laying in my bed but now of all times my mind pierced through the fog clouding my brain, and I took note of the bed I rested in, a bed that was not my own. The bed was fenced in so that I could not leave and the sheets felt repulsive to my skin, scraping away at me as I lay there helplessly. With further understanding of my situation, the further I lost my grip on reality. I was confused, I was anxious, I was scared… scared for my life. 

Another figure materialized at the foot of my bed, no white cloak but a statuesque form with a glistening red headdress flowing down from her head. Her presence was not off putting, unlike the rest of my surroundings. I felt warmth for the first time, I was immediately fixated on the figure, I needed her closer, within arms length. But her illuminating presence was one of worry, and it illuminated upon the cloaked figure, revealing that the presence of every creature in the room was not out of malice, but of concern.

As I laid frozen, my very soul was trying to claw its way out of this spiral.  I couldn’t sense my muscles or any other part of my body. The only part of me that I felt some fleeting sense of control over were my eyelids, being able to hide myself from the figures towering over me, yet too drawn into the warmth to desire the idea of flight. I need to calm myself, I must both focus and silence my thoughts in order to pierce the veil fogging up my perceptions.

The figures in white cloaks began moving around not my bedroom. Their billowing white tendrils search the barren room for something. Pulling apart compartments and sorting through the contents from within, their movements were chaotic yet fluid. I sat idle as I tried to discern the details, some items were long and thin while others were flat and wide. The longer I was at the mercy of these beings like a helpless immolation, the more I rebuked them and myself. 

A cool twinge hit my skin as I noticed the figure with the red headdress began to slip back and away from the foot of the bed. Without hesitation, I panicked. I jumped up to reach her but my body gave no such response. How had I not realized any sooner? I couldn’t move; if my mind was being blurred by radio static, then my body couldn’t reach the satellite. The figure’s warmth fully renounced me and my still state and, with its absence, hysteria welcomed itself in. It stomped me down, further and further into the spiral. The mania I experienced in this moment made it feel like I was in the middle of the ocean trying to stay afloat with an anchor latched onto the joint of my left arm. Wait, I can feel that. One of the white cloaked figures held my left arm down and open at the elbow. I raced to find a way to resist, but there was no use.

An additional white cloaked figure materialized in the room. Though, this new figure was accompanied by something. Next to it was a tall slender totem, it carried some sort of fluid atop itself and had a thin tendril protruding from it. The figure guided the totem to my bedside, just next to the figure holding down my arm. After moving one of those flat, wide, undiscernable items across my arm, the figures grabbed the totem’s tendril. Unlike the tendrils of the white cloaked figures, the totem’s was thin like a tapeworm, but also translucent to a degree. We all watched as the innards of the tendril began to flood with this liquid carried atop the totem. The figure then grabbed it by the tip and led it to my unnecessarily restrained arm. As it reached my skin it held unmoving for just a moment, before it embedded itself within my flesh. A sting surged through my entire body and alerted every nerve that I had in what felt like a tortuous wake-up call. It was the most feeling that I felt I could feel in a place as serious and sterile as this. Serious and sterile? Why do I know this? 

It was so subtle that I barely could feel it, but the tendril of the totem was ejecting its fluid into me. A terrifying thought for certain, but not for this moment in particular. Whatever that fluid is, it is attempting to rescue me. The spiral slowly began to melt away, revealing all that it was withholding from me. I soon began to realize exactly what I had been missing and what I misunderstood. The figures, the room, the totem, all of it. Memories surfaced that filled the gaps like a ruptured dam.

I was in a hospital, I knew because it was one of my earliest memories. I was a small 3 year-old child receiving urgent medical attention. At this age, every other boy and girl is going through one of the most significant stages of development a human being can go through. I was too, but that came along with the discovery that my body was incapable of keeping itself alive. My pancreas was not producing insulin, and I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. The average age for people to be diagnosed with T1D is 24 years old. I would have this disease for 2 decades and still be younger than the average. All things considered I was doing a good job taking care of it with help from my parents. Even so, the weight it laid upon me was immense. Upon me this disease bore restrictions. I couldn’t eat what I wanted to eat, I couldn’t go places I wanted to go, always at the mercy of my unstable health.

The most cruel of these weights was the one it put on my mind. Whether I was always meant to be this way or it's a factor from my diagnosis, I desired to be useful. It was an insatiable desire, if I was not proving myself to be useful, then there was no point to be there. It was the worst with my parents. I was always doing chores before being asked and doing nice gestures for them, I prioritized their happiness over my own a lot. I was swarmed with people telling me I was a good kid, or that I was mature for my age. I could agree on the maturity part at least. Every other kid my age could walk with only the minimum restraints on their conscience. The biggest questions these kids had were what they were having for lunch, or when is the next time they get to go play their favorite game? I bore the same restraints and then some. My question was if I would be able to eat lunch. More pressingly, I wondered: how is someone like me supposed to unburden the people around him if the biggest burden they carry is his very life? What other answer was there than cutting losses and leaving him out to die?

Even the machine, whose sole purpose is to keep me alive, gave up on me just hours ago. It went unnoticed until it was too late, finally I recall the way it felt like all of my nerves got pricked as my muscles froze. My mother rushed me to the hospital, the same one I was diagnosed in. They took me in to get a urine sample. I stood up and almost immediately collapsed, losing consciousness in the process. They put me in a wheelchair and rushed me down the hall. The words of my mother echoed in that moment, telling me not to be scared as horror took her over, and that everything would be okay as she began to weep. I put all of my effort into telling her I was okay, nothing was wrong, and I was fine. Even as my body failed me, I could help but immediately prioritize her above myself. 

Next thing I knew, I was looking into the stark white lights in the ceiling. They wheeled me into an empty patient room. It felt small and compact. Various kinds of medical equipment lined the walls of my room. 

Before I knew it, nurses and doctors came into the room. Towering over in their white coats and scrubs, they circled me. I was laying in the hospital bed but I wished I had been resting in my own. The hospital bed had guard rails so that I would not fall out and the sheets felt repulsive to my skin, scraping away at me as I lay there helplessly. For the first time in that moment I focused on myself, and I was scared… scared for my life. 

My mother came to the foot of my bed, she brushed her bright red hair out of her face to look at me. I felt off-put by my surroundings, but her presence was nullifying that feeling. I felt warmth from her just being near me. I was fixated on her, I needed her closer, within arms length of me. But her face was illuminated with worry, and so were all of the other doctors and nurses in the room..

I laid frozen.  I couldn’t sense my muscles or any other part of my body. The only part of me that I felt some fleeting sense of control over were my eyelids, being able to hide myself from the doctors working over top of me, but I was too drawn to the warmth of my mother to desire the idea of flight. I need to calm myself.

The nurses began moving around my patient room. Their hands swung around rapidly in search of something. Pulling apart cabinets and drawers, and sorting through the contents from within in a chaotically fluid gesture of movements. I sat idle, some of the items were syringes while others were pads of gauze. The longer I was helpless, the more I rebuked myself. 

A chill hit me as the doctors asked my mother to step away so that they could work and I panicked. I couldn’t move; one of the doctors held my left arm down and open at the elbow.

An additional doctor came into the room. He brought in an IV drip. It was a tall slender pole, with a bag of liquid at the top and an IV protruding from it. The doctor guided the drip to my bedside, just next to the doctor holding down my arm. After moving one of those gauzes dipped in alcohol across my arm, the doctors grabbed the IV. He then grabbed it and led it to my arm. They stuck it into my arm as a sting surged through my entire body and alerted every nerve that I had in what felt like a tortuous wake-up call.

The IV started pumping liquids into my body. Slowly my mind and body eased, and it felt like I was in control again.

What a burden.