Sweet Blood

A smile keeps leading to a conversation. Just the other day, I walked by a little jewelry shop on one of the busier shopping streets, Hanoman, and smiled at one of the young men working in one of the storefronts. He asked me where I was staying, I asked him how he was doing - a fairly common exchange. He said he'd had a very difficult day because his neighbor died suddenly. He took out the dictionary and said he was "distressed" and "sad" because he had known the man for many years. He kept telling me his blood was very sweet - "Sugar in his blood. Very sweet." I finally understood that to mean that he had Diabetes. It reminded me of the time I was visiting my Safta in Israel and after getting Xrays because of a terrible toothache, the dentist said that I had a problem with my "tooth of the mind."

Anyway, this kid went on to share that his father also had "the sweet blood" and was wondering if he would suddenly drop dead too. I told him from what I knew, he most likely won't just drop dead. But how did I really know that? I told him that Diabetes can be regulated easily by food and exercise. Oh, and checking your blood sugar level. And then I quickly realized where I was and with whom I was speaking... Regulated with food and exercise?!? Was I serious? Ninety percent of their diet here is white rice. What is he supposed to eat?  I explained that our bodies produce insulin and this helps our blood-sugar level stay regulated. When a body is not producing insulin properly, we must inject it ourselves and eat proper food to balance it. I wasn't sure he understood any of this. Then he asked if I was a doctor. He also wondered if maybe acupuncture could help or if his father should see a healer. He looked at me as if I was his only hope. I told him my father's blood was sweet too. He put his hands in prayer and closed his eyes. A soap opera played on the television in the background. he was a bit distracted but had tears in his eyes. As he tried to understand how to help his father and how to avoid this disease himself, he seemed to get more and more nervous and I wished there was something I could do to help. Instead I just started to cry. I told him I had to go meet up with my friends and I said "feel good" as I left. He called quietly after me, "You too, feel good." As I passed by the store about an hour later, I saw him sitting on his knees, bent over in a prayer position. The soap was still playing above his head.