By John M. Scanlan
Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.
~Jennifer Yane
~Jennifer Yane
For a man, the "Big 5-0" is a wake-up call. It's the one birthday
where he finally realizes that maybe — just maybe — he isn't going to
accomplish all of the things in life that he had hoped. Personally, I'm
still holding out for that NFL draft pick.
So there I was, with August 8, 2009 — my fiftieth birthday — staring
me right in the face. I asked myself, "What can I possibly do to
celebrate the 'Big 5-0'?" Then it hit me. How appropriate it would be to
drive across the country on U.S. Route 50!
I began planning my cross-country drive in late 2008. It involved a
lot of weekday evenings and Sunday mornings spent on the Internet,
searching for every tidbit of information on Route 50 that I could
possibly find. Eventually, I had to buy a brown accordion file to hold
all of my data.
But, alas, men make plans and God laughs. In the middle of January
2009, my body had a train wreck that resulted in an agonizing stay on
the couch for an entire week. Thinking that I just had a severe case of
the flu, I remember very little of those seven days — except for
constantly begging God to deliver me. Finally, I threw in the towel.
Maybe… just maybe… this wasn't the flu after all. I called Bill, a
friend from the gym, and asked him to take me to the local emergency
room. There, they discovered that my blood sugar level was 889
milligrams per deciliter! I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, which
normally manifests in childhood. More importantly, I had been within
inches of a diabetic coma, or possibly dying from undiagnosed, untreated
diabetes. I spent the next twenty-four hours in the intensive care
unit, followed by four days in the hospital as they tried to rein in my
runaway blood sugar.
I must admit that I was disillusioned. For all of my life, all I had
ever heard concerning diabetes prevention was diet and exercise, diet
and exercise, diet and exercise. That would fend off Type 2 diabetes,
which occurs later in life. So I figured that I had diabetes licked
because diet and exercise were my middle names! However, I never counted
on Type 1 diabetes, with my body's immune system attacking my pancreas.
The spring of 2009 can best be summed up in twelve words — a long,
painful climb back to where I used to be. Thus, I decided upon an
ulterior motive for my cross-country drive. I had to prove to myself
that I was still a normal, healthy male capable of living a normal,
healthy lifestyle.
On Tuesday, June 9th, I departed Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, in a rented Dodge Caliber with the following ground rules:
1. I would remain on U.S. Route 50 for the entire drive. I would not
travel on an interstate highway, except for the beltways around
Washington, D.C., Cincinnati, St. Louis, and Kansas City.
2. I would only deviate from Route 50 for short distances to see historical sites and unusual, off-the-beaten-path Americana.
3. To maintain my level of fitness, I would do a hike or a bike ride every day.
4. In accordance with my diabetes regimen, I would not miss any of my
twice-daily insulin injections, or any of my twice-daily finger pricks
to test my blood.
5. I would not take a laptop computer or a cell phone.
6. I would not stay at a chain motel.
7. I would not eat at a chain restaurant.
The late morning of June 11th found me in Ocean City, Maryland, where
U.S. Route 50 officially begins. Risking life and limb, I stood in the
middle of four lanes of traffic on Route 50, faced west, and snapped a
picture of a green sign overhead that read "Sacramento 3073 miles." Then
I hopped into my rental car, said "Let the games begin," and put her
into drive.
In the early morning hours of Saturday, July 4th, a thunderstorm
rumbled through Nevada's Great Basin National Park. My pre-trip homework
had told me how beautiful the night skies are at Great Basin due to the
lack of human-produced ambient light, so I had nestled into my sleeping
bag atop the picnic table, anticipating a classic display of stars. I
interlaced my hands behind my head, looked up to the heavens, and said,
"Okay, Nevada, show me your best!"
Just then, a thunderclap sounded over my left shoulder. I shook my
head and said, "No way. This can't be the one night of the year when
Great Basin National Park has cloud cover." Thunder sounded again, and
then a single raindrop hit me on the forehead. Minutes later, I was
forced to grab my belongings and scramble back into the Caliber as a
magnificent thunderstorm raged through the park.
Curled up on the reclined driver's seat, I mumbled, "Jeeesh, I guess
it can be the one night of the year when Great Basin has cloud cover."
But I soon realized more than that, for this thunderstorm was far more
spectacular than any display of stars I would have seen. As lightning
flashed and rain pummeled the car, I felt so diminutive and
insignificant. I also felt guilty. In this wonderful world that God had
created, Type 1 diabetes was small potatoes. Certainly, it was a cross
that I could bear.
Eventually, the morning of Tuesday, July 7th found me in West
Sacramento, California. Again risking life and limb, I stood on the
narrow right shoulder of Interstate 80's six lanes of traffic, faced
east, and snapped a picture of a green sign: "Ocean City, MD 3073
miles." Mission accomplished!
I had driven across the country on U.S. Route 50 to celebrate turning
fifty. I had followed every one of my self-imposed ground rules to the
letter. I had proven to myself that I was still a normal, healthy male,
capable of living a normal, healthy lifestyle.
http://www.chickensoup.com
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