From before I could remember, my mom had suffered with diabetes. Daily, she pricked her finger for her blood glucose count and she injected herself with insulin. It wasn’t a hindrance to our lives per say, but it meant my mom and my family having to take those extra steps to make sure she was healthy and able to do things. It also meant regular trips to doctors and hospitals. I typically never went with her as she had my father to accompany her, who knew more than I did.

Today was no different, except she went alone, as my dad was working and I was busy with my studies. They usually didn’t take long and there was nothing out of the ordinary concerning my mom’s health recently, so there wasn’t much worry about her going alone.

I am studying in my bedroom, criminology textbook in front of me and my radio set to a classical music station. I always found that listening to classical music helped me study. In fact, I was so into my note taking that I didn’t even notice my mom getting home until I hear the clash of pans from downstairs during a gap between one song and the next. I quickly wrap up my notes and find her in the kitchen, getting ready to cook dinner for this evening.

“Hi, mom. How was the hospital?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe. She turns to me, a grin on her face, and my heart fastens, wondering what sort of news she has to share.

“Oh, honey, the new doctor is so handsome,” she gushes, taking her hands away from the vegetables she was chopping and clasping them together. “I think you’d really like him. He seems like just your type.”

“You say that about every man you meet. My type isn’t just a man who breathes.”  I roll my eyes at her comment, thinking back to the multiple times she’d told me about a new boy she’d met, or her friend’s son that was so conveniently single and ‘wanting to find love’.

“I’m being serious this time, my darling. Plus, he’s a doctor, who wouldn’t want to date a doctor?” Her eyes sparkle and I laugh, moving to take her place with the cutting she was doing before she decided to divide her attention to my love life.

“Just tell me how your appointment went, mommy. I don’t need you to find me a boyfriend.”

“As usual, sweetie. Nothing major to worry about.” She answers, making me smile. It was always a relief to see my mom doing well.

My mom had been doing so well recently, that when I see her frown at her readings in the morning, I immediately rush to her.

“What is it, mom? What’s wrong?” I anxiously ask, moving behind her on the sofa to see the number on the monitor.

“I measured my glucose about 10 minutes ago and it was really low, so I ate some sweets. But I still feel shaky and dizzy so I took the test again and it’s better, but still low for me,” she murmurs, and I notice the sweat starting to form on her forehead. This situation has only happened a few times whilst I was around, and with my father at work, I am the one responsible. I mask my anxiousness and put my hand on her b