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Rhythm of Life
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Love and a life-changing scare turned this rocker into a more mellow man
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By Rick De Kovessey as told to Oona Short
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When I was 14, I’d put my mouth over the faucet and gulp down water. A few minutes later, I’d urinate it right out. This went on for two months, but I didn’t tell anyone. I wasn’t big on complaining. I thought feeling miserable was part of being a teenager. But one Saturday
I got so sick I could hardly move. My parents rushed me to the doctor, who drew blood. My glucose level was 587. I was put into the hospital immediately. I had type 1 diabetes and I was scared to death. That was in 1965, and there was no diabetes educator in the emergency room to answer my questions. I wanted to take care of myself. I wanted to be a good boy and do everything the doctor said, but the next doctor who treated me was a GP, and didn’t pick up on the fact that I was prone to hypoglycemia. I cut carbs to the bone, the way I thought you were supposed to, and developed severe insulin reactions—lightheadedness, dizziness, drastic mood swings, heavy sweating. When the doctor said to add some sugar to my diet, I didn’t understand how and took it as an invitation to go to the local Dairy Queen. That meant more insulin, and a new cycle of problems. I felt like a total failure. By the time I started working as a professional drummer, all I was doing was taking insulin in the morning. For years, I played with different bands around the country, performing six nights a week. I kept crazy hours, and used the insulin reactions as an excuse to go out drinking with the guys, eat all kind of foods. By 1977, I’d gained 30 pounds, and although I went to the Joslin Diabetes Center in Boston to try to get healthier, once I left the clinic I went back to my old ways.
Then, one night in 1985, I noticed blood pouring from a cut above my ankle. I washed and bandaged it, but over the next days and weeks, more cuts appeared. Some days, both my legs bled from as many as 30 cuts each. I was in constant pain. My skin was cracking open from kicking the drum pedals. I was terrified. I stopped drinking and smoking and started measuring food—things I’d been told to do years earlier.
I was still dealing with the lacerations when I played a gig later that year with a singer named Jane Stuart. She was beautiful and funny, as well as talented. We started to date, and when I told her about the diabetes, she said, “Why don’t you get one of those blood kits? It might help you take better care of yourself.” The next time I saw her, she handed me a gift, a glucose monitor. It was a turning point. For the first time, I was able to get regular, accurate readings. Had other people told me about those kits before? Probably. But I wasn’t able to hear it until I met Jane. I loved her and wanted to have a life I could share with her. We were married in 1990.
Around that time, I started working with a wonderful doctor, and began participating more in my own care. And just in time. An ophthalmologist diagnosed me with diabetic retinopathy. The next day, I started laser surgery that saved my sight. Now, at 56, I know that I’m never going to manage this disease perfectly. All I can do each and every day is take care of myself the best way I can. I’m grateful that’s a lesson you’re never too old to learn.
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