“It’s Just a Little Suga”
When I was a little girl, I used to hear a saying that made no sense to my young ears. The old folks would say, “It’s just a lil suga. I’ll be fine”. The saying brought to mind images of sweets and such, but the tone of voice suggested that ‘suga’ was a bad thing. Suga, bad? How could that be?
As I grew, I thought a lil suga couldn’t have been such a bad thing. Seemed like all my older relatives had it, and they looked just fine to me.
As a woman of 44, I now know the true meaning of the saying, and I’ve come face-to-face with its reality. It’s not ‘just a lil suga’. No! It’s diabetes, and it’s a killer. ‘Suga’ diminishes and belies the severity of what diabetes is, and what it can to do you, or someone you love.
I want to introduce you to someone special. Meet Valetta Cruz. In spite of a rough childhood, and her many obstacles, she went back to school in her 50s, and became a licensed social worker. Strong, kind, and loved by children and adults alike. She lived her life, and learned to take the ups with the downs. About 10 years ago, she was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. She kind of expected her diagnosis, as a lot of her siblings and extended family had been diagnosed with the same disease. She was an excellent patient, and followed doctors’ orders to the letter. She grew used to the up and down feeling of ill that diabetes brings.
About 4 years ago, she learned that because of her diabetes, combined with smoking, the circulation to her heart, legs, and feet had become seriously compromised. After years of being a diabetic smoker, her health was suddenly at risk. If you’re diabetic, one of the worst things you can do is smoke. Smoking speeds up the deterioration and constriction of your already-compromised arteries and blood vessels. Smoking while diabetic is a deadly combination.
Her doctors didn’t want to amputate her legs, so they decided to watch the condition of her heart and arteries closely before subjecting her to a traumatic surgery. She’d go for periodic check-ups, and finally, her doctors decided that they could no longer wait. The only option left was to replace all of the arteries leading from the base of her heart to her legs and feet. There was no fix for her circulation problems by this point. Her arteries were of no use to her anymore. They betrayed her, and she helped by smoking those damn cigarettes.
August 31, 2006 was the day of her 1st surgery. What was supposed to be a 4-5 hour surgery turned into a 13-hour ordeal. Her blood continuously clotted, and the surgeons were unable to finish her original surgery. Her body had taken a lot of abuse in those 13 hours, and the surgeons felt she couldn’t take any more.
Everything settled down, and we were finally able to see her. From the stress of the surgery, her body had puffed up to the tune of 90 extra pounds of fluid. All the extra fluid was a sign of how hard her heart was working during the surgery. Because of the swelling in her legs, the surgeons had to make incisions from her inner thigh all the way down both of her legs. Not small incisions. Her legs were cut all the way down to the muscle. This allowed her body to heal without the swelling cutting off circulation to her legs and feet. With her puffy face and body, we almost didn’t recognize her.
We stuck around to make sure she was alright, but we noticed something curious. While the left leg and foot seemed fine, her right foot had turned blue, and was cold to the touch. She had no circulation in her right foot. She would need another surgery, or else her right foot would be amputated. About 3 hours after her 13-hour surgery, she was in surgery again. I’ll never forget the look of fear and weariness on her face. She was crying, and mouthed the word ‘no’ over and over. It was heart breaking, but she didn’t want to lose her foot.
The next day, all seemed to be well with her right foot, but soon enough, there were other problems. On top of the incisions down her legs, she’d been cut from her heart all the way to her pelvic line. The incision wouldn’t close, so there was a gaping hole. That put her at risk for infection, which could bring its own set of problems. The right foot again lost circulation, and doctors were forced to amputate a few of her toes. That was her 3rd surgery. All told, Valetta survived 9 surgeries in 6 weeks in order to save her right foot, and close the gaping wound in her abdomen.
She became depressed, and she stopped eating. For roughly 2 months, she wouldn’t eat. A bite here or there, but not enough to keep her in good health. She lived on soft, sliced peaches, PediaSure, and liquid nutrients the nurses fed her intravenously.
Through all of her surgeries, Valetta tried to remain positive. But I could see a little of her slipping away every time I saw her. When the open wound on her stomach started to close, she was more than happy. It was about this time that she began to eat again. She was suffering with malnutrition, and her doctors left orders that allowed her to eat whenever she wanted to.
Valetta was told to expect a long recovery period. Everyone who loved her braced ourselves for the long haul. It turns out that diabetics heal slower than non-diabetics. Even though she’d finally begun turning a corner, her body was weak. She was in constant pain. I remember days of her calling out to Jesus, and nights of me wondering if these were to be her last days.
I can’t relay to you how crushing a thing it is to be totally helpless. I wanted to do so many things for Valetta, but small things were all I could do. A talk here. A caress there. Sometimes all I could do was hold her hand until she fell asleep, or just be there in silence. She told one of her relatives that she knew she was going to die. The thought of her laying in bed at night waiting for death hurts me beyond all words. The look in her eyes while I rubbed her hands let me know that the small things I did for her were things that she really needed. I know now that there’s no such thing as a small gesture when it’s done out of love.
On October 28th, her birthday, her health took another turn. Her heart problems were getting worse. See, diabetes and heart disease go hand-in-hand. More than 65% of diabetics die from heart disease or stroke. Her doctors decided that once all of her wounds from her previous surgeries healed, she would be scheduled for heart surgery.
Being that this news took the wind out of my sails, I can only imagine what affect it had on Valettas spirit. This was the first time I started feeling that she was going to die. It was at this point that my prayers began to change. Instead of begging God to spare her life, I started to pray that He would end her suffering. It was a difficult prayer, but I prayed it out of love for Valetta. I’d always told her I loved her, but I started leaving her with enough ‘I love yous’ to fill her heart for an eternity.
Valetta was back and forth between the hospital, and a rehab hospital. She was on more medications than any of us could count. In fact, doctors had to decide which of her health problems was more dire. The answer would dictate which meds she would get for that day. So if her heart was worse, she got heart meds. The other meds she needed would have to wait, or if there would be no dangerous interactions, some of her meds would be slowly added back in. Every day she missed some of her meds she really needed. Even her pain meds. Our poor baby suffered some days without her pain meds.
About the end of November, finally, some good news! The stomach wound had closed, and there was no sign of infection. The incisions on her legs had either totally closed, or they were on their way to closing. Even her right foot had healed over, and was receiving the proper amount of circulation. All good signs that she was out of the woods. We were all told she’d be home in time for Christmas. She only needed to get stronger.
Going to visit Valetta after work 3-5 times a week had gotten to me. I was exhausted. She was finally on the mend, so I decided to cut down my visits, and take a much-needed rest. I figured I’d see her twice a week, and continue with my daily calls to check up on her. I wasn’t the only person who visited her, so she wouldn’t be alone.
On December 11, 2006, I got a call from my brother and his wife. It was late, and they were at the hospital with Valetta. Just from his tone, I knew something was wrong. I asked to speak to Valetta. She was talking something that sounded like a foreign language to me. I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. I asked her to put my brother back on the phone. I asked what was wrong with her. He didn’t know. I could tell he was very upset. I asked if he thought I needed to be there, and he said no. He stayed to talk with her doctors, who also seemed to be at a loss for what was wrong. It was all very sudden. Her body had started shutting down, and her kidneys were failing her. Kidney problems are another complication associated with diabetes. The doctors weren’t sure if Valetta was strong enough, but they wanted to start dialysis the next day.
I decided it was time for me to have yet another talk with her doctors, and I planned to do that the next day. I never got that chance. On December 12, 2006, at 7:35 a.m., my brother called me to say Valetta suffered a massive heart attack, and was on the way to the ER. She flat-lined twice on the way to the ER, but the paramedics brought her back.
After speaking with her doctors, I knew that I didn’t want them to take steps to prolong her life. I’m not God, but I knew what Valettas wishes were. Because she’d been without oxygen to her brain, had she lived, she may have been brain-damaged. Her heart was destroyed as a result of the attack. Possibly beyond repair. Her blood pressure was 20/30, and that was with 7 different medications to keep it elevated. Plus, dialysis was looming. Before the heart attack, Valetta had asked to sign a DNR (do not resuscitate) order, so I knew that she didn’t want to live on machines.
Her doctors wanted to try to save her, but I wanted to let her go. To keep her alive seemed selfish. I’d seen all that diabetes had done to her, and I knew that she was tired of fighting. For a tough woman like Valetta to let go of her life, I knew that her opponent must’ve been all-powerful.
I called her family and friends who’d want to say good-bye, and we waited. The doctors wanted to perform a procedure that would support her heart. Valetta was on life-support, and the machines would need to be turned off in order to perform any procedures. Doctors turned off the machines, and miracle of miracles, she was breathing unassisted, and her heart was beating on its own. I told you she was tough.
Valetta was moved to the ICU, where doctors hoped she’d be able to rest, and gain some strength. They didn’t offer us much hope, but they wanted to do all they could to save her life. At 12:00 noon, her family and friends gathered for a prayer on her behalf. At 12:05 p.m., her doctor walked into the crowd of loved ones to say that Valetta couldn’t be saved. He said there had been no more heart attacks, and she didn’t suffer at the end. Her heart slowed, and then stopped.
For me, her death brought a flood of emotions. Sadness. Relief. Happiness that she died with her own heartbeat, and not on machines. Shock at all that had come to pass over the last 3½ months. Even though I wanted her suffering to end, I was angry at God for not saving her. You name it. I felt it.
Valetta Cruz was my mother. She went into the hospital on August 31, 2006, and she never came home. On December 12, 2006, at the age of 61, she lost her 10-year battle with diabetes. At the hands of ‘a little suga’, my mama is dead. At an age when she could’ve been watching her grandkids graduate high school, and go on to college, she’s in the ground. No more Christmases, birthdays, family dinners, laughs, smiles, phone calls, or hugs. Nothing. She’s gone.
Here are some sobering statistics about diabetes:
1. Diabetes is the 5th deadliest disease in the U.S.
2. Smoking raises your blood sugar, which makes diabetes harder to control.
3. People with diabetes who smoke are 3 times as likely to die of heart disease, as are other diabetics who do not smoke.
4. Diabetes is at least 2-4 times higher for African-American and minority women than White women.
5. 14.7% of all African Americans over the age of 20 are diabetic.
Don’t take my word for it. Visit the official American Diabetes Association website at http://www.diabetes.org/. On this website, you can find such information as:
1. In-depth explanations of the major types of diabetes.
2. Diabetes and its symptoms (frequent urination, excessive thirst, extreme hunger, unusual weight loss, increased fatigue, irritability, blurry vision)
3. The Diabetes Calculator. This test will help you know if you’re at risk for pre-diabetes, or diabetes.
4. What you can do if you’ve been diagnosed with diabetes.
5. Diabetes complications and statistics
6. Information on nutrition and fitness
On this website, on the top right, you will find a search bar, which allows you to conduct your own research.
Because of health issues, and health choices, the story of Valetta Cruz is one that pretty much wrote itself. Her death was a textbook diabetic death. Y’all, we’re losing our older generation to diabetes, and its complications.
In the name of Valetta Cruz, affectionately known as Vee, I ask you 3 things:
1. Please don’t smoke. Especially if you’re diabetic.
2. The next time you hear somebody say they ‘got a little bit of suga’, think about my mothers story. Know that her story is, unfortunately, very common for many diabetics. This can happen to you, or someone you love.
3. What will you do when you hear that old saying?
In loving memory of Valetta Davis-Cruz, October 28, 1945 – December 12, 2006.
© Antoinette Davis, February 6, 2009
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