How many times have I been here? Honestly, I don’t know. Until I gave up control of my diabetes, I was here overnight about once a year, but never in the ICU. I was standard floor girl. Today, everybody’s worried about me. Doctor Warner thinks that it’s just a mistake or problematically rebellion. Mom knows me better than that. I think she’s almost got it figured out. That’s why if I’m going to do it, I have to do it now. I have no more time to waste. In my original plan, which I have been mapping out since I was eleven, I was going to get sicker and sicker over time. I’d planned ro leave around New Years, gradually pulling wilder and wilder stunts That way, I figured, my mom would just be glad I was out of pain and not sick anymore. My death would be seen as a relief. Everyone would be told to be glad I wasn’t suffering anymore and to rejoice in the fact that I was at home with God.

My side hurt, mostly because I haven’t changed my set in a week. People with diabetes who are on an insulin pump like I am have to pick a new site to insert their tubing and needle into every two to three days. The tubing and needle together are called set. I have done my own set replacement for the last six years. Mom was very good at teaching me how to be independent. I have managed my own care for as long as I can remember until I decided that it was time to go. I’ve never made a mistake. Even though a lot of kids I know have. Doctor Warner used to say I was his star patient.

But today, I’m in the ICU. It’s no one’s fault but my own. I’m going and there’s nothing anyone can do about it unless they figure out what’s really going on and post a guard outside my door. That’s not likely. This hospital is in the middle of Seattle and for some reason the entire town has gone crazy this Saturday night. I’ve sat here listening to the announcements on the intercom. They’ve had five car accidents, one poisoning, and one potential case of child abuse. I’ve been here so many times, I’ve learned what all the codes mean. So much the better for me. No one has time to check on the rebellious teenage diabetic when they’re trying to put people’s bones back together. Someone in the universe must think this is a good idea.