The Power of Positive

Finding Myself on Route 50^R6

John M. Scanlan

For a man, the "Big 5-0" is a wake-up call. It's the one birthday where he finally realizes that maybe—just maybe—he isn't going to accomplish all of the things in life that he had hoped. Personally, I'm still holding out for that NFL draft pick.

So there I was, with August 8, 2009—my fiftieth birthday—staring me right in the face. I asked myself, "What can I possibly do to celebrate the 'Big 5-0'?" Then it hit me. How appropriate it would be to drive across the country on U.S. Route 50!

I began planning my cross-country drive in late 2008. It involved a lot of weekday evenings and Sunday mornings spent on the Internet, searching for every tidbit of information on Route 50 that I could possibly find. Eventually, I had to buy a brown accordion file to hold all of my data.

But, alas, men make plans and God laughs. In the middle of January 2009, my body had a train wreck that resulted in an agonizing stay on the couch for an entire week. Thinking that I just had a severe case of the flu, I remember very little of those seven days—except for constantly begging God to deliver me. Finally, I threw in the towel. Maybe ... just maybe ... this wasn't the flu after all. I called Bill, a friend from the gym, and asked him to take me to the local emergency room. There, they discovered that my blood sugar level was 889 milligrams per deciliter! I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, which normally manifests in childhood. More importantly, I had been within inches of a diabetic coma, or possibly dying from undiagnosed, untreated diabetes. I spent the next twenty-four hours in the intensive care unit, followed by four days in the hospital as they tried to rein in my runaway blood sugar.

I must admit that I was disillusioned. For all of my life, all I had ever heard concerning diabetes prevention was diet and exercise, diet and exercise, diet and exercise. That would fend off Type 2 diabetes, which occurs later in life. So I figured that I had diabetes licked because diet and exercise were my middle names! However, I never counted on Type 1 diabetes, with my body's immune system attacking my pancreas. The spring of 2009 can best be summed up in twelve words—a long, painful climb back to where I used to be. Thus, I decided upon an ulterior motive for my cross-country drive. I had to prove to myself that I was still a normal, healthy male capable of living a normal, healthy lifestyle.

On Tuesday, June 9th, I departed Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, in a rented Dodge Caliber with the following ground rules:

1. I would remain on U.S. Route 50 for the entire drive. I would not travel on an interstate highway, except for the beltways around Washington, D.C., Cincinnati, St. Louis, and Kansas City.

2. I would only deviate from Route 50 for short distances to see historical sites and unusual, off-the-beaten-path Americana.

3. To maintain my level of fitness, I would do a hike or a bike ride every day.

4. In accordance with my diabetes regimen, I would not miss any of my twice-daily insulin injections, or any of my twice-daily finger pricks to test my blood.

5. I would not take a laptop computer or a cell phone.

6. I would not stay at a chain motel.

7. I would not eat at a chain restaurant.

The late morning of June 11th found me in Ocean City, Maryland, where U.S. Route 50 officially begins. Risking life and limb, I stood in the middle of four lanes of traffic on Route 50, faced west, and snapped a picture of a green sign overhead that read "Sacramento 3073 miles." Then I hopped into my rental car, said "Let the games begin," and put her into drive.

In the early morning hours of Saturday, July 4th, a thunderstorm rumbled through Nevada's Great Basin National Park. My pre-trip homework had told me how beautiful the night skies are at Great Basin due to the lack of human-produced ambient light, so I had nestled into my sleeping bag atop the picnic table, anticipating a classic display of stars. I interlaced my hands behind my head, looked up to the heavens, and said, "Okay, Nevada, show me your best!"

Just then, a thunderclap sounded over my left shoulder. I shook my head and said, "No way. This can't be the one night of the year when Great Basin National Park has cloud cover." Thunder sounded again, and then a single raindrop hit me on the forehead. Minutes later, I was forced to grab my belongings and scramble back into the Caliber as a magnificent thunderstorm raged through the park.

Curled up on the reclined driver's seat, I mumbled, "Jeeesh, I guess it can be the one night of the year when Great Basin has cloud cover." But I soon realized more than that, for this thunderstorm was far more spectacular than any display of stars I would have seen. As lightning flashed and rain pummeled the car, I felt so diminutive and insignificant. I also felt guilty. In this wonderful world that God had created, Type 1 diabetes was small potatoes. Certainly, it was a cross that I could bear.

Eventually, the morning of Tuesday, July 7th found me in West Sacramento, California. Again risking life and limb, I stood on the narrow right shoulder of Interstate 80's six lanes of traffic, faced east, and snapped a picture of a green sign: "Ocean City, MD 3073 miles." Mission accomplished!

I had driven across the country on U.S. Route 50 to celebrate turning fifty. I had followed every one of my self-imposed ground rules to the letter. I had proven to myself that I was still a normal, healthy male, capable of living a normal, healthy lifestyle.

(1038 words)