The Invisible Black Woman

I was bracing myself to break the news to him. When I turned around, he was leaning forward, with a look of worry. He heard enough to be worried but not everything. Thanks to merciful Christ, the doctor walked in right behind me, along with her crew.

Hubby was sitting up. He smiled when I walked in, though I knew he could see the worry on my face. He arched a brow as he looked at me, the universal sign for, “What now?”

“Hi, Dr. Jones. How are you feeling today?”

“Better, I guess?”

His tone told me plainly he would have preferred to have said, “supposing you tell me?”

“So as I was telling your wife, you’re insulin resistant.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that your body isn’t responding to insulin the way it should. It’s producing insulin, but your cells aren’t using it properly, which can lead to higher blood sugar levels.”

I was standing next to the bed now, watching his face carefully. His confusion turned to realization, the weight of it settling in.

“Does this mean I have diabetes?”

“No, not quite, but it’s something we have to watch carefully because insulin resistance can lead to Type 2 diabetes if it’s not managed.”

Hubby leaned back against the pillows, his face a mix of frustration and disbelief. I heard him mutter “just great” under his breath as he shook his head.

I squeezed his hand, offering whatever silent support I could, though I wasn’t sure it was enough.

 “The good news is that it’s manageable. With the right diet, exercise, and medication, we can get this under control.”

“But… how did this happen? Why didn’t anyone catch this sooner?”

Million-dollar questions right there, if you asked me.

“We don’t always catch it right away. Insulin resistance doesn’t usually have obvious symptoms, which makes it tricky to detect unless we’re specifically looking for it. We did a battery of tests when you were admitted and we’re glad we caught this now.”

 “So, what now? What’s next?”

“Well, we’ll need to monitor your glucose levels closely. I’m going to prescribe Metformin, which helps your body use insulin more effectively. It’s an important step in managing this.”

I could see hubby suppressing his urge to give her major side eye. “Isn’t that for diabetes?”

“It’s commonly used for both diabetes and insulin resistance. It’s a proactive measure. The goal is to prevent the condition from progressing any further.”

I could see it was hitting him hard. I squeezed his hand again, trying to convey all the things I couldn’t say in that moment. I could tell he, too, was getting sick and tired of rolling with whatever life felt like throwing our way, as we’d been trying to do so far.

“Exercise will also play a big role. It doesn’t have to be anything intense. Even regular walks can make a huge difference in how your body responds to insulin.”

The crazy part is that of the two of us, it should really be me that had this. Hubby was no slouch, but just like me, he’d had some unfortunate setbacks every time he was on the cusp of getting things back on track from an exercise standpoint. If we could lose a pound for every time we got injured trying to get healthy or some unexpected ailment took us out of commission, we both could win Mr. and Mrs. Universe tomorrow. And, to be honest, he is not someone you would look at and think, “oh, he’s obese or overweight.” Me on the other hand—well, this isn’t about me right now, now is it?

“What about diet?” I asked.

“We’ll want to focus on foods that are lower in sugar and refined carbs. Whole grains, lean proteins, and lots of vegetables. We’ll also talk about portion control.”

Portion control has never been an issue that hubby has had trouble with. I often would tease him that he eats like a bird. His retort was always, “psssh! I wish I looked like one.”

Her voice interrupted my thoughts trailing off.

“You got this, but it’s going to take some work.”

If she only knew the person with the portion control and emotional eating hangups was me, she would know that it wasn’t going to be an issue. Sure, he’d have to curb his sweet tooth, but once he sets his mind to something, he gets it done.

“You don’t have to give everything up, but moderation is key. Think of it as making room for healthier options, not restricting yourself completely.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if a woman half my size was standing next to him, if she’d felt the need to add all those extra comments. I felt judged, although maybe it wasn’t intentional, I just took it that way.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said, and smiled politely.

“I’ll check back in later today. In the meantime, the nurses will monitor your glucose levels, and we’ll adjust the plan if we need to.”

Then she headed out with her team in tow.

We let the heavy silence fill the room for a bit. I didn’t know what to say. We’d been through so much, and I was running out of comforting words to offer. It felt like there was always something new, another health issue to face, another hurdle to jump.

Hubby was the first to break the silence. “Insulin resistant,” he said, almost to himself, like he was still trying to process it. “I don’t even know what that means for me.”

I sat down on the chair, still holding his hand. “I think it just means… we’re gonna have to be more careful. But it’s not the end of the world, Babe. We’ve gotten through worse.”

He stared at the TV, though I knew he wasn’t really watching it. “It’s just one more thing. Feels like my body’s turning on me.”

I didn’t have a witty comeback in that moment. To me he was larger than life. This is the man who had yet to know he suffered a heart attack. I often wonder how he was still standing. I also wondered when exactly it happened, but more so I thanked God it was so imperceptible to either of us that we didn’t know until after the fact. Seeing him struggle with this—physically and emotionally—I wasn’t ready for the toll it would take.

“We’ll deal with it,” I said, as if saying it out loud would make it true. “We always do.”

“I just hate that this is our life now. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“Ummm, Sir! That is exactly what I signed up for. Through sickness and health, remember?”

“I know. Just feels like there’s a lot more sickness to go around. Like I tagged myself in to be sick during the second half of our marriage.”

“Well, I for one appreciate you being polite enough to wait your turn.”

That made him laugh, which is what I’d hoped.

Then he sank back into the bed.

The silence stretched between us again, not uncomfortable, but heavy.

Every so often, he’d shake his head and whisper, “insulin resistance.” It was either accompanied with an exasperated sigh or an expletive. Both were fully warranted.

Internally, I was a ball of emotions. I was grateful he’d made it through the surgery. I was grateful he’d been downgraded. I was grateful he would be going home soon. I was also grateful they caught the insulin issue before it got worse. But on the other side, I was confused and frustrated. I was confused and frustrated why this was happening not just now, but at all. I knew I had no right to question the wisdom of God and the universe, but I couldn’t see my way clear of the timing of it.

I was in the midst of still struggling through my workplace issues. That had yet to come to a resolution. Why was this the right time for all this to be taking place? I had to believe there was a higher purpose or greater lesson we both were supposed to glean from this. Maybe this was our final wake-up call to get more proactive about our health, but man it wasn’t for lack of trying. What exactly was the reasoning?

Then I remembered something I told hubby before we found ourselves where we were. I thought about people who believe in a higher power versus people who don’t. The latter camp states that if there is a higher power, why is there so much suffering and destruction and sorrow? The former camp believes they are a result of sin and our flawed nature—or some variation thereof. Ironically, both sides believe: one believes a higher power exists while the other believes a higher power does not exist.

But the question I asked hubby was this: if there is a higher power that presumably knows everything there is to know about everything, there’d be something like a Dr. Strange (yes, I watch way too much Marvel, probably). They would be capable of seeing every possible outcome and probability imaginable and how every ripple would affect the final outcome. What if everything that happens to every person is to ensure that as many of the good guys are saved as possible?

So that is what I chose to believe in that moment. Not that this was part of some cosmic joke or punishment. That this all served a purpose and no matter how possibly discouraging it felt at the moment, in the end, the good guys win…

Right?