Carl had worked outside his whole life. He was happy to finally be retired. Here he was, at 68, with leathery, callused hands, alone in his one bedroom home just outside Death Valley.

He loved his AC window unit that he’d purchased on the day he retired. The white, 25 pound, 2×3 foot receptacle fit perfectly into his living room window. It was a treasure chest in his eyes, a thing he’d dreamed of owning since he’d started working in roofing at the age of 14. He’d never had AC growing up. He used to fantasize about going home and just lying down in the AC. Now he finally could. He never went outside anymore. Carl knew what it was to have a heat stroke. He’d also had his share of run-ins with rattlesnakes. Now, he was content to spend his days sitting in his recliner, being blasted by cold air. Carl loved his AC unit more than life itself.

One night a storm came through, causing a power outage. Carl used his small back-up generator to plug in his window unit. He felt so hungry, despite having eaten. He had to urinate often. He was dizzy too. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a piece of bread. Suddenly, he collapsed. His glucose reader indicated that his blood sugar was 920, critical. He started sweating and vomiting. He needed insulin, fast. He reached for the fridge but there was no insulin inside it. Without it, his blood sugar would continue to rise. He would become acidotic, lose consciousness, and die.

He remembered that his daughter had put some in the fridge in the garage. The spare fridge ran on a separate breaker – maybe it still had power. He’d have to go outside and cross the field to get to the garage. Snakes were out there. He could get hit by lightning. He could have another heat stroke. It sounded better to stay on the floor and let the cool air of the window unit caress him to sleep. He’d gradually slip into a coma. He felt confused, then thought of one certainty – his grandson was to be born in one week. Carl crawled to the front door. He reached for the doorknob but froze in fear when he heard a hissing sound on the other side of the door. He lost consciousness.

Carl awoke wearing a linen hospital gown. A bag hung above his bed with a tube attached to it and running into his arm. Insulin. Carl’s son Randy had been on the other side of the door when he fell asleep. He’d called for help in the nick of time. Carl was treated for his diabetic ketoacidosis and was expected to be okay.

“Look, Dad,” Randy said, pointing overhead. “They have central air conditioning.”

There was a knock at the door. Carl’s daughter appeared, holding a baby boy. “His name’s Frederick,” she said, “after Frederick Banting, the man who discovered insulin.”