Most of the time, my Type One (T1) diabetes is invisible. Most of the time I can check my blood sugar and give my bolus (insulin) under the radar without anyone even realizing what I just did. Minus my furry companion who is almost always at my heels, you might not even know that I have been living with T1 diabetes for 10 years, but there are signs that tell you even when I do not utter a word.

I have tiny holes in all of my fingertips because of nearly 20,000 finger pricks to test my blood sugar, and that number is growing. I have scar tissue in my thighs, hips, and arms because of site rotations that have been inserted with an inch-long needle every three days for the past decade. I have bags under my eyes, not because I stayed up to party or cram for a test, but because I was up the entire night chasing my blood sugars around in an attempt to keep them under control. I exercise so that my blood sugars are more stable, but I have to drink and eat sugar and carb-loaded foods to compensate for the inevitable low blood sugar that follows. My parents' eyes are worn with restlessness, exhaustion and worry. I get two flu shots per year because getting sick is not an option for a T1 diabetic. There are small signs like these that show that though I look healthy, my life is constantly revolving around my T1 diabetes.

I'm not alone, though; 1.25 million American adults and children are reported to be living with T1 diabetes. By the year 2050, five million people in the United States are predicted to be diagnosed with T1 diabetes. 600,000 youth will contribute to that statistic. That's millions of children, college students, and moms and dads that will never stop worrying about their numbers, their families, their health, and life expectancy -- which, by the way, is decreased by an estimated 13 years. If you want to put a dollar sign on T1 diabetes, there is a reported 14 billion annual healthcare-related cost in the United States. I could tell you about beta cells, insulin production, and talk medical with you, but I will tell you what T1 diabetes is to me and leave the medical terms to you should you look them up.

T1 diabetes is waking up, shaking and struggling to open a juice box at 2 a.m. because your blood sugar is low. It is pricking your finger before every meal, and at least five more times a day. It is forgetting to give insulin for your meal, and consequently dealing with crazy high blood sugars and a headache. It is accidentally ripping out your insulin pump site because it got wrapped around a door knob. It is seeing your doctor every three to six months and hoping for a better A1C than the last time. It is knowing that it likely won't be any better. It is unusual and unexpected moments of tears and fits because even though you've dealt with T1 diabetes for years, it's still unfair. It is knowing that eating a funnel cake at the fair with your friends is a horrible decision. It is making difficult decisions. It is a family sacrifice. It is hospital trips. It is It is a temporary basal rate on a road trip. It is staring at the mirror and being upset over pockets of scar tissue. It is camp friends. It is counseling. It is a blessing. It is has molded me. It has tried me. It is never having a day off. It is taxing. It is painful. It is hard.

I was admitted to the hospital on August 8, 2016, due to high blood sugars and a result of my prescribed medication that was supposed to keep my blood sugars in more stable control, but instead sent me into diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA). In my 10 years living with T1 diabetes, I had never experienced DKA, and I did not understand the gravity of such a situation until I looked at my arms -- hooked up to multiple IVs flushed with fluids and insulin, and getting blood drawn every two hours. It didn't hit me how sick I had become in 24 hours until I felt like all my energy had been drained and I looked at my parents' weary faces. It didn't hit me until I remembered that DKA can lead to a coma and death. There are hundreds of thousands of T1 diabetes stories just like this one, and more that are individually unique as each T1 diabetic is.

So while T1 diabetes may be hard, painful and unfair, the diabetic is strong-willed, brave, and hopeful because we know that the fight must continue. For those that live with T1 diabetes and those that have died because of T1 diabetes, the fight is not over; because of hope we continue fighting, walking, running, biking, funding, and researching for a cure so that one of the top 10 killers in the United States is defeated -- so that Type One is Type None.