I was diagnosed in August of 2015. In March of that year, my feet began to go numb on the top. I didn't think anything of it; I had no reason to think anything about me was off, so I ignored it.

Fast forward a few months; I was in the middle of preseason for my junior year of high school soccer, and was coming off a hugely important summer for my young soccer career. I was training harder than ever. I should've felt like I was in the best shape of my life, but I didn't. My world had lost its distinct crispness that I had come accustomed to. I was losing weight fast; 21 pounds in as many days, and I felt slow and sluggish. I've never been a big napper, but that summer I would eat a huge meal and then essentially fall into a diabetic coma for a few hours while my sugars skyrocketed. I attributed this all to my training routine, so I of course ignored the obvious signs. That is until I noticed the incessant thirst and near constant urination. All day long I was in the habit of chugging close to a liter of water, then having to pee ten minutes later, then repeating the whole cycle. The breaking point came when my constant nagging thirst woke me up at four one morning. I got out of bed, went pee, and made my way to the kitchen, still bleary eyed from the absurd hour that I was awake. I fumbled in the cupboard for a glass, filled it up, and started drinking. I filled the glass up with lukewarm water as I could drink it faster than if it were cold, and downed glass, after glass, after glass of water and only stopped when my stomach was sloshing around and feeling like it could burst. My frustration exploded when I set my glass down and realized that after all that water, I was still thirsty.

I remember thinking, "Shit, this can't be normal." I struggled through the last few hours of attempting to get some sleep and went to the computer in the morning. I did something that many doctors will tell you not to do, but it might have saved my life: I googled my symptoms. But not before eating this amazingly healthy breakfast (cringe).

Feeling a bit of nerves (or maybe it was my body rejecting all the sugar I just ate, I dunno) bubble up in my stomach, I typed in the search bar, "Constant thirst", and hit enter. The page refreshed, and I scanned the screen for any possible clues as to what could be wrong with me. The two main results on the search page were rabies and diabetes. I couldn't believe I could have diabetes at first so I assessed the possibility that I might have rabies.

I hadn't been near any wild animals, or even any domesticated animals. There had only been one human case of rabies in the entire country in 2014, so the possibility of me having rabies probably wasn't likely. Eventually, I came to reason with myself that I could have Type 1 Diabetes. The facts were all there: excessive thirst and frequent urination, fatigue, tingling and numbness in extremities, occasional blurry vision, and I had realized I had experienced all those symptoms in the past few months.

“I think I might have diabetes.”

I texted my dad, who was out of town at the time, and said, "I think I might have diabetes." Surely, this was a strange text to get from your 16 year-old, very physically active son. My dad responded with, "I am sure you are just over-trained. We will check when I get back tomorrow."

The next day, when my dad returned to Brookings, we went to the lab where he works as an exercise physiologist and got out one of the home glucose meters that they often use for research. Even before my diagnosis, I was not afraid of needles. He pricked my finger and let the tiny drop of blood get sucked up into the little machine, waited a few seconds, and checked the result.

"HI"

Strange. Either the machine was greeting us, or something was off. My dad whipped out the manual included in the box and found the page that addressed the issue. It said something about how the meter would read up until 550 mg/dL, and any reading above that would just say "HI".

For the first time in a very long time, I could sense distress manifesting itself in my father. He called the clinic in town and got an appointment for a blood test on the next day. After making the appointment, he called my mom and explained the whole situation. Of course, my mom could not wait until the next day, and was very adamant that I get my blood tested immediately.

So off to the clinic we went. Walking into the clinic I felt very heavy, like I was dragging my limbs everywhere I went. It didn't feel any different than the previous few months, so I was mostly worried about whether or not I would make it to practice that night. In the clinic I had some blood drawn, and waited in the examination room for the doctor to return with the results.

“We can either have an ambulance take him, or you can take him yourselves.”

The young doctor came in and said look, Ben's glucose levels are at 868 mg/dL. We can either have an ambulance take him, or you can take him yourselves, but he needs to go to the hospital in Sioux Falls right now.

The drive to Sioux Falls from Brookings is only about 45 minutes, but that was the longest 45 minutes of my life on that day (it probably only took us about 35 to get there. I doubt my parents were adhering to the posted speed limit given the circumstances.) I remember sitting there feeling miserable while trying to muster courage and inspiration from famous athletes with diabetes. I took notice of a few like Adam Morrison, Gary Hall Jr., and Jay Cutler, and then I skipped down the section about soccer players and noticed my favorite American player, Jordan Morris, was on the list!

I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I knew I could still play at a very high level even if this nightmare I was in did turn out to be real. When we arrived at the hospital, they checked me in. They took my height, weight, and vitals. As they were taking my weight in the children's wing of the hospital, I looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of the exam room and asked when I would be out of here. I had my second practice of the day and I didn't want to miss it, especially when I felt fine. To this, the doctors and nurses in the room let out a chuckle, thinking I was joking. I let out a chuckle too, to play along so they wouldn't think I was serious. Just to make sure he was clear, the doctor told me that I wouldn't be doing much exercise for at least a week.

That crushed me. I live to exercise, and I couldn't live with a week off, especially when my first high school game was the following Tuesday. I was going to play whether the doctor liked it or not, but I kept that to myself.

“I felt like I didn’t need to be there.”

After vitals, I was ushered into one of the rooms. They immediately laid me on the bed and inserted an IV drip to rehydrate. Up to this point, I felt guilty. I felt guilty for wasting my parents' time and money, guilty for wasting the nurses' and doctors' time, and especially guilty for missing practice. I felt like I didn't need to be there. I figured they could just give me some insulin and a meter and send me home. It wasn't until they inserted the IV that I fully understood the gravity of the situation.

Diabetes mellitus killed more people globally in 2015 than road injuries. (World Health Organization)

As the day dragged into the night, with more and more nurses coming in to jab me with needles and make me eat, I kept thinking that it couldn't be real; that I was going to wake up at any moment, go eat a giant chocolate chip pancake breakfast with powdered sugar and syrup on top, and go about my day just like normal. The fantasy I had of it all being an illusion was shattered every few minutes (it felt like every few minutes), when my heart rate monitor would go berserk and the nurse would have to come silence it. Over the next 12 hours, I learned how to carry out essential bodily functions manually. Insulin injections, testing blood sugar, listening to my body more intently to feel hypoglycemia coming on, all of it. Everything that my body did naturally for the first decade and a half of my life, was all up to me now. Being responsible for my own life in that way was scary considering I could hardly bake a frozen pizza without burning it, but it was sort of baptism by fire in a sense.

“I most importantly learned to listen to my body. ”

I learned fast. I learned what I can eat and what I can't. I learned the way different types of exercise affect blood sugar differently, and I most importantly learned to listen to my body. After the last session with my diabetes educator, I was finally able to go home. I stepped out of the hospital feeling like time had stopped on the outside since I had been in. I went home, and started my new life. It was the same life, but it felt so much different. I went to practice the next day, and began to learn how to balance my defunct pancreas and the sport I love so much. And yes, despite doctor's orders, I did play in my game that Tuesday. We won.

535 days removed from the day this chapter of my life started, I will be starting a new chapter tomorrow. I just hope it doesn't involve losing involuntary function of another part of my body.