The Cure

“What if our symptoms were superhuman symptoms and the medications we take suppress our abilities?”

I stared across the hospital room from my bed at my roommate for the night. “What?” This was absurd, but Tara’s eyes danced with excitement. We were both in the hospital being treated, me for my sudden diabetes diagnosis at the age of 17 (right before graduation I might add) and her for Lyme disease that she had been dealing with for quite a few years.

“I’m serious, what if it’s true?” She jumped out of bed and began pacing the floor. We had been talking all night, complaining to each other. She made me feel better about the whole thing, she dealt with a disease every day but had more spunk and sarcasm in her little body than anyone I’d ever met. “Our doctors may not know any better, it’s what they were taught.”

* * * *

Three years later I found myself laying on the floor, angry at the world. Once again, my blood sugar numbers were through the roof because I was stressed out from my college classes and the bad numbers stressed me out even more making my numbers worse.

What the hell?

I rolled over on my belly and Indy stared back at me with his cute little head cocked to the left. “What am I supposed to do, pup?” I said, knowing I wouldn’t get a response. “Why is this so frustrating to deal with every day? Ugh!” I rolled back over, staring at the ceiling among my array of history books. Indy followed suit, crushing a few papers.

He inched forward and licked my face. “At least you know how to cheer me up,” I said. What was I supposed to do? Diabetes was nearly impossible sometimes. I couldn’t just take a pill every day and be okay, it was a constant battle influenced by, well, everything.

I had a sudden thought and went over to my desk where my purse was. Inside was my insulin pen, the little needle that brought my blood sugars back down when I ate or when they randomly went to high. The needle that left marks all over my belly and thighs and freaked out onlookers.

“What if she was right?” I asked myself. The girl from the hospital, I hadn’t talked to her in a while. We spent the night complaining and talking about ridiculous things, but there was one thing she said that really stuck with me. I had kept it safely in a pocket in the back of my mind. It was probably only because ever since I was little I dreamed of living in my books where magic was real, where normal people were secret heroes, finding something in themselves that they never knew was there. I wanted so badly to believe that was real and could happen to someone like me, but so far all I got was a bad hand.

I snapped my insulin pen impulsively, sending the liquid everywhere. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” I said and scrambled to clean it up. I ran downstairs, dog on my heels, to the fridge and grabbed a new one. It was midnight, I knew my parents wouldn’t see me getting a brand new one when I just started one.

Regardless, in a split second I had already made up my mind, but I would hold onto a pen just in case. I put it in my purse and called Indy up onto the bed for the night.

* * * *

Just for the heck of it, I tested myself. A mean 500, instead of a normal human’s range between 80 and 130, and I felt it. It had been three days and all that had changed was how crappy I felt. Maybe this was a terrible idea… I could go into a coma for heavens sake, so the doctors say. I was already late for class, because I felt so terrible.

The half hour car ride was miserable enough, and then I saw a car accident right in front of me.

I immediately pulled over and got out of the car with a few others who saw it happen. One car was t-boned and the guy wasn’t getting out.  The other car had fled before I could even tell anything other than its gray color. Not thinking, I ran over, forced the rest of the driver door open, and placed my hands on the guy’s arm.

It exploded from my core to my fingers and toes, a blue light emanating from my body. It was power, it was magic.

I could feel my blood sugar dropping, I was familiar with that part. But instead of feeling dizzy, it just felt… right. Something in my brain told me it was okay.

The sugar built up to fuel my power and then released it, transferring its power into this other person, healing them. I saved the guy’s life. Me. Saved a life. I couldn’t believe it.

The guy blinked up at me,  looking as bewildered as I felt. “Hey, its okay,” I whispered, “you were in a car accident.”

“I-I don’t feel a thing,” He said and took a look around at his destroyed car, “You did this, you helped me didn’t you? There was a blue light?”

“Well, I just-I saw what happened and wanted to help. There is probably an ambulance coming. What’s your name? I’m Melanie.”

“Gene,” He smiled. “Do I really need an ambulance?” Gene asked, moving his limbs about in a silly way that made me laugh.

Everything came together in that moment, I understood. It wasn’t a disease, it was a gift. If I helped people, my body would help itself. Though hopefully I wouldn’t give myself low blood sugar in the process, I’d have to consider that.
But one question remained, was I the only one?

Daily Prompt:Dancing

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