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We found 10 result(s) that match your search "fight for a cure":

Exactly eighteen years ago, my life completely changed. As a normally healthy and happy four year old, my family saw me quickly decline. Finally, on this day in 1993, my dad carried me into the doctor's office to find out that I had type 1 diabetes. My parents were devastated. My brothers unsure. My whole family, grandparents and aunts and uncles, were challenged by the news.

 

Here I am, a successful eighteen years later. As I posted on Facebook about my diaversary and asked everyone to donate to a diabetes research organization in honor of my eighteen years, my friends and family left me their support. Memories from my aunt about the day along with encouraging words about my strength. My other D friends left their love and understanding.

 

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When I was four years old, I wondered why the doctors never made me better. Why did I have to go four times a year yet still get my finger checked, take shots, and miss out on half the fun of being a kid? I couldn't understand why seeing the doctor didn't make it all go away...everything was always better if you went to the doctor.

 

I was an angry four year old. I went to a psychologist for a time and my parents bought plenty of books (by plenty, I mean the two that were available at the time) about being a kid with type 1 diabetes in 1993. My parents treated me like a normal little girl, except that I couldn't have birthday cake or go to school without a lot of stress.

 

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In March, it will be seventeen years. Seventeen long, grueling years. Years of promises, hope, and disappointments. The past years have included dozens of news articles, emails, updates, and doctor's promises that a cure is on the horizon.

 

The next five years. The next ten. Soon. We're making progress. Any day! Before you have kids. Before your kids are grown.

 

The promises abound. The hope alights. But the disappointment is great when five, ten years, soon disappears. Today, I'm wondering why we don't have a cure. Why are we being promised so many things and seeing so much "progress" but nothing is getting to me? Nothing is getting down to the lay-men who are living with this disease? Exactly why do all the mice get cured and I'm stuck injecting and pricking thousands of times?

 

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I'm 21 years old. As much as I like to consider myself an adult, I know I've barely lived. Yes, I've been in love, traveled to multiple countries, held a steady job, and seen the sunrise. But I haven't held my own child in my arms, said "I Do" in a white dress, walked across the university commencement stage, or owned my own home.

 

I have spent the last four years of my life fighting against my health though. A fight that has beaten me down, bruised and broken me both physically and emotionally. A fight that I'm ready to give up on.

 

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Birds are chirping nearby. The cat is content at my feet. A soft breeze is blowing Texas Spring through my patio. I've got a plate of delicious leftovers from dinner last night. What more could I possibly want?

 

What I want is a cure. What I want is people fighting for a cure. What I want is people making a real impact on this world, including myself.

 

As I'm getting the hang of JDRF and my individual office, I'm finding myself in a very specific train of thought. Where is our cure? What is it that we're doing? And how can we change this?

 

It's Gala season here in Texas. And my chapter is in full swing prepping for it. Wrapping boxes of chocolates, finalizing volunteers, finishing contracts with donors. We are full speed ahead until the night of that event. Full speed ahead to raise over half a million dollars.

 

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Now, a sausage skin that cures diabetes.

 

This is it! The one we've been waiting for. The cure for diabetes.

 

This is like a dream come true for Charlie. He loves sausage. But wait, it gets better. The procedure allegedly lasts less than an hour and it reverses diabetes within weeks. But wait, it gets even better. No surgery required. Just open wide and inhale the two feet of sausage-like material like a sea otter.

 

Wa la. Cured.

 

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When I was in grade school, regardless of whether our Trick-or-Treat costumes were home-made or store-bought, whether we wore masks or make-up, our huge paper loot bags were accompanied by small orange milk cartons stamped with information from UNICEF -- The United Nations Children's Fund. Printed on the cartons were examples of what a small donation might do for a child in a third-world country -- a nickel, for example, might provide a child with a pencil and notebook for school; a dollar might vaccinate him against smallpox or polio; five dollars could get his town clean water. The following school day, our teachers would collect the milk containers. The local PTA would count up the money and submit the school's UNICEF donation for that year.

 

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Most of the teams who participate in our local JDRF Walk for a Cure are composed of friends and family walking for a child with diabetes. The child gets to be the focus of attention for a fun-filled day of raising awareness for that which normally separates him (or her) from his friends. There's also the smattering of company, corporate, and fraternal teams walking in the name of public service.

 

And then there's the third type of team: those who walk to honor the memory of a loved one killed by diabetes.

 

Memorial teams may be the fewest in number, but they serve as a poignant reminder of why we must walk - why we must continue to walk - and why insulin is not a cure.

 

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An old adage suggests there is strength in numbers.

 

 

Not the numbers of our ABCs -- although there is strength in that knowledge -- but the strength of many people, standing together, for the same cause.

 

Many people making the same choice made Jesse Ventura -- a third-party candidate -- governor of Minnesota, and Abraham Lincoln -- also a third-party candidate -- President of the United States.

 

Many people speaking out on television and in the media made everyone aware of AIDS and of Breast Cancer -- even though those two diseases kill and disable far fewer people than heart disease and diabetes.

 

Why is it, then, that hundreds (thousands?) of Twitter users turned their avatars red for World AIDS day, or green to support the protesters after the Iranian election, but not blue to support World Diabetes Day?

 

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