Exhausted. Tear-stained. My first night in the hospital for Diabetic Ketoacidosis was a seemingly constant stream of blood draws. I came to accept the pinch of the needles, something I’ve feared my entire life, resigning myself to the fact that it was my new reality, and that each new prick could hardly be worse than the one before. At the age of 20, during finals week of my second year of college, I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes (T1D) and was in Diabetic Ketoacidosis (DKA), a life-threatening complication of high blood sugar.

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