By Alexa Rivers
Dec. 26, 2006, started like any other day in my 2-year-old world. Bright holiday lights flickered, toys lay scattered across the floor and Christmas joy filled the air. But this day, my world shifted — not with the excitement of gifts from Santa or holiday cheer, but with fear and uncertainty — the first of many days where my life would swing between the highs and lows of blood glucose. I was too young to know then, but this was the beginning of a lifelong journey with Type 1 diabetes, a condition that has since shaped my perspective and ambitions toward public health.
A few days earlier, at a Christmas party, my parents’ friend noticed that I kept asking for water and seemed to be constantly heading to the bathroom. These observations planted seeds of worry in my parents’ minds. My dad, a hypochondriac, has always been hyper-alert to health crises. Every ache or symptom set off his internal alarms, especially when it came to his children. For the next 10 days, my dad kept meticulous watch over me, noting every drink, every bathroom visit and every odd behavior. I became extremely thirsty and lethargic, with no energy to keep up with my brothers. I was constantly drinking water, and the bathroom trips didn’t stop. The signs becoming too clear to ignore.
The day after Christmas, my mother took me to the ER. She held me tightly as a nurse pricked my fingers to draw blood. After a whirlwind of tests, the doctors confirmed dangerously high ketone levels in my blood, a sign my body was starved of insulin. At the hospital, my parents were thrust into a crash course on diabetes management: insulin injections, blood sugar monitoring, carb counting. I was too young to grasp much of it, but I was trading stickers and high-fives with Dr. Jorge Daaboul, my endocrinologist from diagnosis until my recent transition to adult care. Dr. Daaboul did more than just treat me — he inspired me. He taught me that diabetes didn’t have to control my life. Instead, I could manage it. His compassion gave my parents hope, and with each check-up, he instilled in me a passion for public health.
Returning home from the hospital, everything had changed. My parents were overwhelmed by instructions, insulin vials and glucose meters. Every meal became a calculation, and every outing felt like a potential emergency. As I grew older, I began to understand just how different my life was from my peers’. My friends could enjoy carefree sleepovers and candy-filled holidays, while I lived under the rules of blood glucose monitors and dietary restrictions. No other parents knew how to manage my condition, so sleepovers became rare, often leaving me feeling isolated. At school, I had to go to the nurse before lunch each day, making me feel like a spectacle. My friends would sometimes complain if I got a snack for a low glucose reading, wondering why I had “special privileges.”
In third grade, I experienced a particularly terrifying incident. A miscalculation by my school nurse at lunchtime left me with a blood sugar level of 19 mg/dL. I sat in the nurse’s office, clutching juice boxes, while my parents rushed to the scene. It took three juice boxes and two bags of chips before my blood sugar returned to normal. This incident pushed my endocrinologist to grant me permission to calculate and inject insulin independently. This step became a catalyst for my diabetes advocacy and self-management.
Middle school marked another turning point. I heard for the first time, from my guidance counselor, that my disease could kill me if I didn’t maintain control. The stark reality hit me hard, but instead of allowing it to scare me, it motivated me. I started seeing my condition as an opportunity to educate others about Type 1 diabetes, advocating for awareness and early detection whenever I could. This realization taught me that my experience with diabetes didn’t have to limit me; Instead, it could empower me to make a difference.
The financial burden of my illness also weighed heavily on my family. Before the Affordable Care Act, my parents’ insurance frequently dropped us due to my preexisting condition. My parents were often forced to pay $1,600 per month for insulin just to keep me alive. Each bill became a reminder of the gaps in our health care system, and each setback fueled my drive for advocacy.
Today, I am a college student pursuing a degree in public health, with a focus on health care management and administration. My experiences with diabetes have shaped how I view the world and inspired me to advocate for a health care system that serves everyone, especially those managing chronic illnesses like mine. Recently, my family turned to me for advice when my 6-year-old sister started showing symptoms of diabetes. Once the child in need of constant care, I am now guiding my family through the uncertainty of a potential diagnosis. I want to set an example for my sister that she is not alone and that the path ahead, while challenging, is illuminated by others who understand her journey.
My journey with Type 1 diabetes has taught me many lessons, but the most important is the power of knowledge and advocacy. I urge parents to learn the signs of Type 1 diabetes — excessive thirst, frequent urination and sudden mood changes. Early detection can prevent life-threatening complications and improve a child’s quality of life. By sharing our stories and supporting one another, we can push for reforms that ensure accessible and equitable health care for all.
Alexa Rivers is a third-year public health major.
“My public health story” essays originated from an assignment on public health storytelling for a public health messaging and dissemination course led by Brittney Dixon-Daniel, Ph.D., M.P.H., director of the Bachelor of Public Health program.