Brenda Novak’s Auction

Every year, DP and I donate something to Brenda Novak’s Auction in support of Juvenile Diabetes research, but this year Brenda tells me the goal is 1 million, so we’re going all out. For the press, we’re offering a couple of manuscript edits, one full length up to 120k words, and one shorter work or partial. I’m personally offering 1. art; 2. an original poster; 3. a WordPress blog or CMS design; 4. a ZenCart or WordPress ecommerce design; and 5. a year of hosting and one domain registration.

Why it’s so important to me is under the cut, but beware. It’s pretty dismal and I whine a bit.

My brother died of diabetes complications 16 years ago. He was 32. Troy was diagnosed when he was 11, and the doctor told him he’d be lucky to live to 18.  Every year after 18, despite better insulin and more information, he seemed to feel he was living on borrowed time. He was bitter.

Baby pictures  show a prickly, grumpy-faced baby, all wrapped up with a foot or more of space around him. He didn’t like to be cuddled or held unless his daddy was doing the holding. In my memory, Troy’s existence begins with me standing in the waiting room of the hospital. I was 9 and too young to visit him. The nurses said they’d smuggle me in if he said he wanted to see me, but he didn’t. Many years later he told me it was because he thought he’d cry, but I was never sure I could believe it. He used to like to beat me up, or cheat me out of toys, or just say really hurtful things to see my reaction.

He had another side, though. He adored our baby sister.  He loved animals, especially horses and dogs and cats. He kept lizards. He loved kids. He liked to fish. To hang out with his dad and brothers. He’d turn his old syringes (minus the needle) into water guns and shoot people around corners. He once told me he’d beat up anyone at school who picked on me.

“But you pick on me all the time!”

He laughed. “That’s different. I’m your brother. Nobody picks on you but me.”

Troy always wanted a cure. He used to demand a miracle from God, and was incensed he didn’t get it.  He was careless of his health. He told the doctor I wouldn’t be a good kidney donor because he refused to settle for just a kidney. He wanted a combined kidney/pancreas transplant, despite the odds against it. He grinned, a reckless, triumphant expression on his face, when he told me.

One of the very last things he said to me, when he’d already died of congestive heart failure 3 times and been revived, despite his DNR order; after several mini strokes and a heart attack; after cateract surgery; dialysis, loss of circulation in his legs; living constantly in pain…one of the last things he said was, “I always wished it was you.”

So, if we could get rid of juvenile diabetes entirely, maybe some other kid won’t be wishing his little sister won that lottery instead. That would be good. And you know, maybe my brother won’t be mad at God that the miracle came a little late.