Our beloved housemate Karoshi-man has diabetes. He has had it almost 20 years. Not because he ate poorly (no worse than you or I, and better than most since he was a chef), not because he was overweight (he isn't, he's always been pretty lean), and not for lack of exercise (he is an avid bike rider.) He has a bum pancreas. Plain, but hardly simple.
His form of diabetes requires insulin several times daily, constant water to keep his inner workings... ah, working, a close eye on blood sugar levels. Even then, things happen, and he has to go to the emergency room. Like yesterday morning.
Anal-man took him to the ER (the poor man looked awful, couldn't even keep water down), but when we tried to get an update that afternoon we were told they'd have him call. No call. That night? No info. He was sitting, sorta, in the living room, when we got up the next morning (this after calling the hospital from our bedroom and being told they had no record of him.)
Seems the K-man had never been admitted. They put him in a bed with three IVs in the hall by the nurses' station, something that really knocked him for a loop (he's still feeling its effects), then shook him awake at 3AM. "Get dressed," he was told. "Your cab is here." He was so shakey he could barely dress himself, let alone walk to the cab. He was ditched! Any number of bad things could have happened to him between there and here. I'm so relieved he made it home and back inside the house!
He has insurance. He can't afford it, but his condition makes it necessary. I shudder to think how he would have been treated without it!