In September of 2024, my wife took me to the hospital. It had been a hell of a week.

It started with a stomach ache. I figured it was maybe an ulcer. When it didn't go away, I checked my blood sugar on a hunch. Over 528.

So I did what any normal person does. I went to Google and typed in "sugar over 300, what do." It told me to drink water and get some exercise. So, in pain, I got on the treadmill and started running to calm it down. Drank some water. Just kept running.

Thirty minutes later I checked it again. 479. I figured if it was still high in the morning, we'd go to the doctor.

That night went the way it usually did. Up every 45 minutes to use the bathroom and try to stamp out the heartburn. The pain was bad, but it was a normal kind of bad, the kind I'd gotten used to.

6:00 AM rolled around and I needed to take my daughter to school, 45 minutes away. I checked my sugar. Still 329. And the pain in my stomach wasn't just growing anymore. It was screaming.

That's when my wife spoke up.

That sentence saved my life.

Seventy minutes later we couldn't even make it to the hospital closest to our house. I could barely keep my eyes open. The pain had grown so much I was struggling just to stay coherent. She got me into the ER and started the check in process. Blood pressure normal. Everything looked fine on the surface. Something was very wrong underneath it.

They put me in a room. Took my blood pressure again and started talking to me. It was barely elevated, but I could barely talk. Then they took my blood sugar. And my A1C.

Four EMTs came into the room to stabilize me. I didn't fully know what was happening. I just remember being relieved that someone was finally taking it seriously.

IV first. Insulin. Monitors. The works. More blood. All panic. Blood pressure still barely elevated.

The A1C came back. 13.4. Average blood glucose of 340.

"I haven't eaten since yesterday." My wife took the rest of the questions.

With that, and my blood sugar still reading 329, it's possible that before they even took that reading, I'd hit something close to 800. I shouldn't have been talking. I should have been in a coma.

They kept checking my sugar to bring it down, then sent me to imaging.

It finally started to come down after an hour or so of insulin and heavy fluids.

I still didn't feel good. My stomach was on fire. This wasn't an ulcer.

Then came the next problem. Being in the hospital wasn't enough. I still had to inform my boss and his lackeys and prove it, or I'd be canned. My wife took a picture to send them. One of them still tried to spin it as me just not showing up to work.

After a while, one of the several doctors I'd meet over the next three days came in and told me I had severe DKA with pancreatitis. Over the next few days we'd learn so much that it became clear just how close to death I actually was. Something needed to change.

My pancreas burned itself out. But I was alive. My wife helped me build a meal plan and figure out everything I needed, because for me, this was never about surviving with diabetes. It was about getting rid of it.

I'll always technically have diabetes. But waking up every day knowing it's under control means my kids get to have their dad another day. And it all starts with a little more exercise. With a little Chubrun.