Phoebe Gilmore

Long Narrative Draft

Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

1
Word Count: 3,658

Crazy Eights
March 27, 2004
I do not want to get up and leave class to visit the water fountain for the fifth time
in an hour. Every time I stand up from my chair, I have to hold onto my pants to keep
them from falling to the floorthe waistline feels like I am wearing a potato sack. And
besides, we are learning about owls. Today, in my second grade class, Mrs. McDowell
told us that they are nocturnal, which means that they stay up all night and sleep while we
are awake. Sometimes I feel like an owl when I cant sleep at night, even after Mom and
Dad tuck me into bed and give me a kiss. At least owls can hoot to each other, but I have
to stay quiet. Owls can also turn their heads the whole way around.
I wish all of the other kids could turn their heads the whole way around instead of
staring at me as I decide that I need to get more water. My mouth feels like the desert.
Donna, my babysitter, got me off of the bus after school. When she hugged me,
her face suddenly changed.
Have you been eating? she questioned me, like I had climbed that high tree in
the yard that she always tells me not to climb.
All Ive done is eat, I told her. As soon as Im done eating, I want more food.
And I feel like I can drink the whole water fountain at school.
Immediately after I told her, I begged her not to tell Mom. Sometimes Donna was
annoying and tattled on me. I was fine, I told her.
Guess what? She told on me anyway. And I cant believe she did. I trusted her,
but she still told Mom that I wasnt eatingthat I was too skinny.

Phoebe Gilmore
Long Narrative Draft
Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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Word Count: 3,658

Grown ups only listen to grown ups, never eight- year-olds. Stupid Donna ruined
everything.
I didnt want to tell Mom about my potato sack pants. I didnt want to tell Mom
that sometimes I wished I were a camel because they have humps on their backs that hold
water and I need one of those. I didnt want to tell Mom that sometimes I wished my
classmates had owl heads so they wouldnt keep staring at me. I didnt want to tell her
any of that. I just wanted to go to Cassies party at the skating rink on Saturday.
But Mom told Dad when he got home from worktold him that Donna said I was
too skinny. And Dad always listens to Mom instead of me.
Mom made me go to the hospital, even after I screamed and cried because I
would have to miss danceI never missed dance.
I was mad at Mom. Mad because she took the stupid babysitters word over my
own. Mad because she made me miss dance. Now my dance teacher would be mad at
me too. Everyone was mad at me over something that wasnt even true.
I waited in that small white hospital bed for what felt like forever. Mom was a
drama queen, crying and asking me if I felt okay. Im just worried about you, she told
me. Youre my peanut.
Im fine Mom, I told her for the millionth time. Of course, she didnt believe me.
The doctor finally came in and looked over my entire body, in my eyes, throat,
ears. She poked me with a needle and I cried. Not because it hurt but because I was
frustrated. And I cried a lot more than I should have, enough that my tears hit the paper
sheet covering the exam table. She told us that she would be right back with the results

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Long Narrative Draft
Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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to the blood tests she did to check if I was sick. And she told us to hang tight. I guess
thats how grown ups tell you that youre gonna have to wait forever for them.
The doctor told Mom that I had something called thrush in my throat. Thats why
I was always so thirsty. For me, this meant that I had to gargle this disgusting brown
mouthwash that tasted like old prune juice mixed with medicine; something my grandma
drank probably. Even though we had Listerine at home.
It also meant that I didnt have to go to school the next day and Mom would buy
me a Pepsi flavored slushie at Sheetz. So thrush was pretty okay in my book.

March 30, 2004

You looked so small that daythe day I found out how small you truly were.
I picked you up from school and told you that we had to go to a follow up
appointment with the pediatrician after your hospital visit three days prior. My daughter,
you were so angry. You balled up your little fists and insisted that you were fine, Mom.
I still took you.
Once there, my heart dropped. The scale at the doctors office informed me that
you, my eight-year-old daughter, were a mere 39 poundsthe average weight of a threeyear-old child. The same weight as the canoe you paddled at the lake every summer,
your sunburned cheeks turned up in delight. The same weight you were when you
learned how to read. The same weight as a bag of Honeys dog food. And I was in
shock.

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Long Narrative Draft
Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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How could I let you get to this point? How could I stand by and watch my baby
girl slip away, waste away into nothing?
I still pictured those sunburned cheeks as you smiled at me then, your face turned
up in its usual ornery grinI guess you decided that you were through being angry with
me for the day. I felt like my heart was 39 pounds as I sat in the bathroom and cried. I
could not let you witness my weakness as you sat brave through it all.
I took you to the bathroom soon afterurine sample ordered by Dr. Hall. Back in
the room, I held you on my lap. It was then that I noticed how bony you had become,
your protruding hipbones jutting into my stomach.
We played Crazy Eights, your favorite card game. Fitting title, because your
eights were about to get pretty crazy.
And we waited, you more patiently than I, for the test results. Finally, they were
in and Dr. Hall reentered the exam room.
I knew the news was bad by the look on her facepure defeat. It looked as if she
had aged ten years in five minutes. A nurse came in and took you to the waiting room to
play Chutes and Ladders. As you skipped away, peanut, I knew that our lives were about
to changebig time.
Dr. Hall told me that there was sugar in your urineindicative of type 1 diabetes.
She told me that I needed to take you to Childrens Hospital in Pittsburgh, an hour and a
half from home, to receive a definite diagnosis and proper long-term care. Yes, you
should pack a bag, she told me. No, type 1 diabetes does not go away, she told me.
And I cried. I cried so hard.

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Long Narrative Draft
Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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When we walked out to the car, you asked me if we would be staying overnight. I
said no instantly, not wanting to upset you again. But afterward, I corrected myself and
said yes. You accepted this fact like I had just told you what two plus two equaledjust
a nod. Peanut, I wish I could be as brave as you.
Driving fifteen minutes home to pack felt like an eternity.
Dad was waiting at the door when we got home, holding your little pink suitcase
it looked like a lunchbox in his big hands. Upstairs, your brother and sister helped us
pack that bag with your clothes, so tiny that they looked fit for a doll. Your brother ran
downstairs after youwe forgot to pack socks.
We didnt talk much in the car during the drive to the hospital in Pittsburgh. It
was dark outside and I saw your eyes fighting sleep. I let you sleepthere was no telling
how long you would be able to sleep once we arrived.
I will never forget pulling up to the hospital that night. The valet service must
have noticed the faraway look in my eyes. He told me, Give us your keys and well take
care of the rest. That made me cry but then again, everything made me cry that day.
We walked into the emergency room, your tiny hand held in mineyou yelled at
me for squeezing it too hard. The front desk secretary told me that the ER was packed
and that you would be on a bed in a hallway until they could place us in a room.
You lay in the hospital bed, squished between two nurses stations in that dimly lit
hallway, a steady stream of doctors, nurses, and patients rushing by. You had your head
buried in a coloring book, so I dont think you noticed the crowd. I braided your hair to
try to busy my mindit didnt work.

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Long Narrative Draft
Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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About an hour later, we got situated in a small emergency department room next
to the bathroom. Despite this being a childrens hospital, the flickering lights and lack of
decoration deemed it equally depressing to a normal hospital. I remember your concern
as you saw the little girl across the hall, coughing deeply. I pulled the curtain on the
outside of your room eventuallyI had to try to protect my baby from witnessing the bad
and sickness in the world, even as we went through it ourselves.
Your tiny arm was completely covered in IVs and bandages, but you were content
drinking grape juice and watching The Cosby Show. You were so hungry and begged
for food, but all they gave you was a packet of crackersthe kind you get when you
order soup at a diner. Not nearly enough to fill your bottomless pit of a stomach.
I felt my phone vibrate next to me as I sat with you on the bedendless questions
about what was wrong with you kept pouring in: Dad at home with your brother and
sister, Aunt Sally, Mim.
I turned my phone offthat moment was ours, darling. One of the last moments
before we knew for sure.
You did not cry once: not when they put the IV in your arm, not when they drew
blood. You asked me if I was okay because you saw my tears through the hard exterior I
tried to maintain. I held you even tighter then and in that moment, I decided to be a
fighter like you.
And then we got the definitive diagnosistype 1 diabetes. A disease I was sure I
learned about in high school health class but knew next to nothing about now. A disease

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Long Narrative Draft
Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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that sounded so foreign, yet inhabited every cell of your 39-pound body. A disease that if
left untreated would kill my peanut. And I was furious.
Furious that the other hospital had not detected this disease in my baby. Furious
that they sent you home with nothing but an eight-ounce bottle of mouthwash. Furious
that I did not know what this disease entailed and most of all, furious that there was
nothing I could do to stop it.

April 17, 2005

April 17.
That means that today, it is my wifes birthday. Your mothers birthday. But it
doesnt feel celebratory.
It has been just over a year since you were diagnosed with type 1 diabetes; a year
since I drove that hour and a half every day just to see you. Mom and I knew that raising
a child with a chronic disease wouldnt be easy, but we hadnt considered the constancy
of diabetes.
It starts from the time you wake up.
I go into your room and I always stand in the doorway for just a minute, admiring
how tiny you look curled up in your bed. But chaos usually starts promptly as I wake
you.
The doctor told us to expect tantrums; your whole life has shifted in this year
since the diagnosis. But you cry most mornings, not something we expected.
This morning, you cry and I hold youwhat else can I do?

Phoebe Gilmore
Long Narrative Draft
Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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Word Count: 3,658

Next comes the first blood sugar check of the dayone of a typical nine or ten
across a whole day span. Your fingers are deeply calloused, so you say that the pricks do
not hurt anymore. I thank God for that.
Before school, you must eat. Immediately after your meal, you have to take
insulin to avoid blood sugar spikes, made easier since you recently got an insulin pump.
Better than when we had to give you multiple insulin injections per day, usually in the
bathroom so that no one else could see. You get embarrassed if anyone sees.
The pump is consistent. But since you are such a curious child, we lock it so that
you cannot access it. For now, Mom and I are in control of your diabetes care.
You report to the school nurse four times a day for routine blood sugar checks and
directly after lunch so that she can manage your insulin dosing. You cry about this often
at home, since the other kids make fun of you for being late to recess every day. I tell
you that it is just the way it is. You tell me it isnt fair.
It isnt.
And after school, you go to dance, where your pump is disconnected from your
body to allow a free range of motion. Mom and I always call the studio to make sure you
reconnect the pump whenever possible. More than two hours without it can result in a
weeklong hospital visit for youinsulin deprivation is no joke.
But birthdays are hard, since Mom and I are still figuring out how to let you eat
things like cake without your blood sugar spiraling out of control. Today, your blood
sugar levels are running high. No cake for you. No cake for me either. I cannot stand to
watch your dejected face.

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Long Narrative Draft
Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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We play basketball outside instead, just you and me.

Bath, blood sugar check, bed. And again you look so peaceful curled up in bed.
Another day with diabetes downday 383.

May 11, 2012

Tonight is the night to rememberat least thats what everyone tells me.
My first prom, made even more special because I am a sophomore and got invited
to the dance by a senior boy with surfer hair and a Suburban. I cannot wait to showcase
my floor length floral gown to all of my friends. I just hope that it is hidden.
It being my hideous insulin pump, an unsightly index card-sized box with
chipped pink paint, tethered to my hip at all times by a two foot line of tubing. When I
got my first pump eight years ago, my mom remarked how it looked like a brick on my
frail body. And to this day, it feels like a brick to me.
A constant sense of self-consciousness. A constant reminder that my body is and
will always be a royal fuck up. A constant feeling of differentiation from my peers, and
not in a good, youre unique way.
And it is a pain in the ass to hide.
Even though I am wearing two pairs of spandex shorts to keep the pump in place,
it inevitably slips out and swings back and forth like a pendulum, still connected to my
body. If I took it off for the night, I would become incredibly sick from lack of insulin
supply and probably end up in the hospital for a few days.

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Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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And honestly, I think taking my pump off and getting sick might be worth it to
feel normal and beautiful for once in my life; no girl feels beautiful with a medical balland-chain attached to her hip.
During prom, Dad will blow my phone up with texts, reminding me to check my
blood sugar and take insulin like I havent been diabetic for 16 freaking years.
Type 1 diabetes has become a deep, bitter resentment for me, more deep-seated as
years pass. Sometimes, I pretend that I do not have diabetes at allMom hates that.
Ill go days at a time without checking my blood sugar, ignoring my disease as if
itll go away if I do not give it attention, like a sad dog meandering away after no one will
pet him.
But diabetes sticks around no matter how much I urge it to go awayit never
takes a break.
There will always come another time where I undoubtedly have to do a finger
prick, give myself insulin, do an at-home urine testa time when it has been too long
since the last. Diabetes is a constant in my life, a nagging migraine. It guarantees that I
will always be an outcast.
When I neglect my disease, I get in trouble. And Mom threatens me.
She tells me that I cannot disregard my diabetes, that I am doing much more harm
to my body than I realize. She tells me that she will not let me go away to college if I do
not take care of myself in accordance to her high standards.

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Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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But my brother and sister got to go to whatever college they wanted. So do all of
my friends. I already have to take the SATs and maintain top gradeswhen did diabetes
become a criteria for college admission?
So here I stand, the unavoidable pink brick on my side playing into the faade that
my diabetes is important to me. That it matters to me.
And I feel ugly, even as people tell me how gorgeous I look in my prom dress. I
know that everyone can see the outline of my pumpthey are just being nice by not
mentioning it.
But absent remarks do not feel nice and I do not feel beautiful. All I feel is my
diabetes, literally pressed on my side. And quite frankly, I feel like shit.
So heres to the night I will never forgeta night bombarded by parental
reminders to remain different from my peers when all I want to do is conform. A night
where I am like a dog chained to a pole outside in the rain, alone in a struggle that no one
else seems to understand, no matter how hard they try.

March 25, 2016

4,381 days.
As I write this, it has been 4,381 days, almost twelve years, since the day we
entered that first emergency room.
My darling daughter, how we all have grown.
At the beginning, I wasnt sure that we could handle your illness. Hell, I woke
you up on our drive home from Childrens Hospital because I was convinced that you

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were dead. I had no idea how to care for a diabetic child, or so I thought. You were
patient, mostly. Tantrums were inevitable, but that is to be expected with any child
recently diagnosed with a chronic disease.
When we got home, Dad barked on about carbs. I just wasnt sure how I could
comfort my precious eight-year-old, saddled with a chronic illness forever.
But you taught me that we could do it.
And here we are, 4,381 days later.
As the mother of a type 1 diabetic, I have learned a lot. I have learned that I
cannot control every up and down, and that is okay. I have learned that idiots will make
remarks about their aunt who had diabetes and lost their legmost people cannot
reconcile between type 1 and type 2 diabetes. I have learned to disregard and laugh at
those idiots. I have learned that diabetes does not take a vacation and that dangerous
things happen when you think that it doeshospitalizations and comas. I have learned
that it is easier to get through the hard times when we work together as a team, not
allowing your disease to disable you or our family as a whole.
Most importantly, I have learned to let go.
We couldnt keep you under our wings forever. Just because you are a diabetic
does not mean that you are not also a daughter, an athlete, a friend. It does not mean that
you do not want to go on first dates and eat ice cream straight out of the container. It
does not mean that you are an outcast.
It means that when you moved off to college, I made you promise to try to call me
every day. It means that when I do see you, I hug you just a little bit tighter. It means

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that yes, I worry, but no, I do not nag. It means that I pray for you a little longer. It
means that I rejoice more in your victories.
I will never forget our diabetes educator in the hospitalLori. She was a bubbly
girl with canary yellow earrings and a smile from ear to ear. When she came into our
room for the first time on March 31, 2004, I quickly became furious. How could she be
so happy when my baby was so sick? I immediately asked her what connected her to
type 1 diabetes; how was she qualified to tell me how to keep my baby alive?
Well, Im type 1 diabetic, she told me, the smile never leaving her face. And in
that moment, I realized.
There was hope.
You had a future.
And as I write this now, peanut, I know that I was right. I know that there was
hope all along. This disease does not control youit simply makes us cherish every
moment spent together just a little bit more. Diabetes wont win.
Because my darling, youve already won.

Phoebe Gilmore
Long Narrative Draft
Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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Authors Epilogue

Coming into Intermediate Nonfiction, I struggled to place myself in other peoples

shoes and speak through their points of view. This is an element of craft that I wanted to
master throughout this class, and I certainly feel that I have improved through the
structure of my final long narrative.
For my long narrative, I was originally planning to tell the story of my type 1
diabetes diagnosis solely through my point of view because I assumed that I knew the
story better than anyone else would. After interviewing my mom for the story, I realized
that her experience was much different than my own and informed me of a lot that even I
did not know, so I decided to write the story through her point of view. Finally, I
combined the two with my dads point of view to offer a complete narrative of my
familys struggle with my childhood chronic disease diagnosis.
With the three points of view, I believe that my story is able to transcend what
would have been a simple this happened to me story had I only included my own
perspective. For me, the story now speaks for more than itself. It plays into the idea of
how an entire family is affected when one member is diagnosed with a disease. The three
perspectives also enable my piece to discuss different ways that people handle such a
diagnosis and how there is no right way to do so.
I originally had a section in my piece through my brother and sisters points of
view combined, but I opted to cut these sections out in favor of the part with my dads
point of view and the excerpt from my sophomore prom. I believe that since both of my
siblings were young at the time of my diagnosis, their perspectives were not fully
informed and therefore did not add much to the piece. They instead became redundant.

Phoebe Gilmore
Long Narrative Draft
Intermediate Nonfiction
Mark Kramer

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The section from my dad speaks to my daily struggle with the disease, and my later
section about prom shows my previous bitter resentment towards my own body. I believe
that these two sections allow the reader to empathize more with my situation than the
sibling section did.
Overall, thank you for forcing us to do these interviews. Had the interviews not
been a requirement for the narrative, I would have made this whole piece about just
myself and never looked outside to consider how my own sickness impacted my loved
ones. If this was the case, I think that my story would be majorly lacking in perspective
and resonance for the reader. This class has taught me to find the greater story, consider
what will allow the readers to relate to my personal narrative, and step outside of my
comfort zoneI am grateful for that.
Word Count: 472

Interviews
1. Jeffrey Siwik
Not relevant to this piece (used for first proposal)
Phone interview (recorded)
27 minutes long
I chose Jeff for my first proposal (hookup culture) because I know that
he generally has very conservative views when it comes to such topics.
He gave me good quotes for this side of the debate for or against
hookup culture.
2. Hilary Gilmore

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Phone interview (recorded) & in person (notes)
25 minutes long (phone)/ not sure how long in person
My mom is perhaps the only person who knows more about my
experience with diabetes than I do. She stayed in the hospital with me
every night and has been there for me every single day since. Her
perspective gave me a lot of insight into the experience overall.
3. Hannah Gilmore
Skype interview (took notes)
23 minutes long
Talking to Hannah made me realize that my parents kind of kept her
out of the loop. I did not include her point of view because she was so
ill informed, but parts of her interview still inspired how I thought and
wrote through other points of view in the piece.
4. Randy Gilmore
Phone interview (recorded) & in person (notes)
23 minutes long (phone)/not sure how long in person
My dads point of view is vital to this piece. He spoke a lot about his
daily struggle to take care of me as a young diabetic child, so I wrote
about that through his point of view. I believe that the inclusion of a
day in the life is important in this piece because it allows the readers

to see that diabetes does not go away and what is at stake if it is not
cared for properly.
5. Ben Gilmore
Skype interview (took notes)
27 minutes long

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My brother was 13 when I was diagnosed, so he was self-admittedly
absorbed in his own stuff rather than my sickness. I do not blame him
for this and admired his honesty in the interview. Because he and my
sister lacked in-depth perspective about my diagnosis, I decided not to
include their points of view in my narrative explicitly.

Sources
"Diabetes Type 1." Managing Diabetes as a Teenager. DIPEx, 2016. Web. 25 Mar. 2016.
Eiser, Christine. Chronic Childhood Disease: An Introduction to Psychological Theory
and Research. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1990. Print.
---. and R. Morse. Quality-of-life Measures in Chronic Diseases of
Childhood. Alton: Core Research on Behalf of NCCHTA, 2001. Print.
"Extreme Tantrums May Signal Mood Disorder." Today's Parent. Today's Parent, 23 July
2013. Web. 18 Apr. 2016.
"Fun Owl Facts for Kids - Interesting Information about Owls." Fun Owl Facts for Kids

Interesting Information about Owls. Science Kids, 1 Feb. 2016. Web. 17 Mar.
2016.

Joy, Megan. "Those Final Ten: Things That Weigh 40 Pounds:." Those Final Ten: Things
That Weigh 40 Pounds. 13 July 2010. Web. 19 Mar. 2016.
Miscellaneoust. "What NOT to Say to the Parent of a Type 1 Diabetic." YouTube.
YouTube, 16 Dec. 2010. Web. 25 Mar. 2016.

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McCarthy, Moira. "What I Wish Id Known When My Child Was Diagnosed with Type
1 Diabetes." A Sweet Life. A Sweet Life, 31 July 2014. Web. 13 Apr. 2016.
"Oral Thrush Symptoms, Causes, and Treatment." WebMD. WebMD, 2016. Web. 17
Mar. 2016.
"Siblings of Children with Chronic Illnesses or Disabilities." HealthyChildren.org.
American Academy of Pediatrics, 2016. Web. 25 Mar. 2016.
Tenderich, Amy. "Teens with Diabetes: Freedom Is Their Secret Drug." Mother Shares
Her Child's Struggle With Type 1 Diabetes. Healthline, 25 Feb. 2010. Web. 10
Apr. 2016.
"Treating Type 1 Diabetes." KidsHealth - the Web's Most Visited Site about Children's
Health. The Nemours Foundation, 2016. Web. 20 Mar. 2016.
"Type 1 Diabetes." Symptoms. Mayo Clinic, 2016. Web. 19 Mar. 2016

Second Field Trip

For my second immersive process, I decided to visit the diabetes ward of
Childrens Hospital of Pittsburgh in March, the month I was diagnosed, to see if it jogged
any memories of my time there. I basically just walked around the floor and talked to
any nurses that would take the time to talk to me.

Unfortunately, it really did not remind me of my time there because the hospital moved
locations since I was hospitalized in 2004 and most of the nurses that I had in my visit
there do not work on the diabetic floor anymore anymore. I did feel a lot of sympathy for
the families that I saw there, and it gave me some better insight into how my parents must

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have looked and felt while they were there. Interviewing the families felt oversolicitious
and not necessarily relevant to my piece, so I opted not to do so.
One thing that did stay the same was the artwork, which is odd to me because the
artwork seemed scarce when I was in the hospital. However, there were two or three
paintings I saw that gave me a pang in my stomach when I saw them and realized that
they were on the floor where I got diagnosed. It was an unexpected feeling.
Overall, I did gain a greater understanding of my own diagnosis through this
immersive process, but not necessarily in the way that I expected.
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