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Writes Rumbidzai Mubirira
September is a dark month for me. The 21st day floods me with tears. The heartache is unbearable, as I remember that day. They say time heals, and it has failed to do that for me.
September 2023 marks a decade after my father succumbed to diabetes mellitus Type 2.
I was more familiar with hypertension, asthma, and other chronic illnesses before he was diagnosed. He lost his appetite, and he literally shrunk as we watched week after week.
We attributed the weight loss to him not eating well. After the drastic weight loss, poor eyesight set in, leading to blindness. His life was in turmoil. His feet developed boils, and in no time, Dad could not walk. He needed assistance. He needed a caregiver, and he became dependent. My dad, my hero, was no longer a strong man.
In 2006, Dad had staggered and collapsed a few houses from home. Passersby ignored him, mistaking him for a drunkard.
Luckily, one young man rushed and notified us.
We rushed and found him unconscious.
That marked the journey, which was full of tribulations, considering he was a pensioner.
The life of a diabetic is hell. People who live with diabetes patients suffer more. Untrained, with no support, and unaware of where to seek free assistance, we shouldered the burden. We literally became mental patients. We burned out.
It was the two of us, my mother and I. We made a lot of sacrifices along the way. By 2008, we couldn’t afford medication and resorted to herbs. It sustained us up to early 2009 when I could assist with money for medication.
The feeling of letting a loved one down softly eats you up. Living with a diabetic, one is always in panic mode.
Experiencing a diabetic coma was the most traumatic experience, a near-death experience.
I experienced it more than three times until he went into a diabetic coma on the 21st of September 2013 and never came back.
Awareness of diabetes is necessary, and so is treatment and support.
