How four days at the hospital changed my life and made me empathize with a criminal.
By Jacob Clavijo ~ Editor-in-Chief
In 1921, Frederick Banting and Charles Best discovered a way to extract chemicals from a dog’s pancreas to be used on other dogs with diabetes. With the help of their colleagues, J.B. Collip and John Macleod, the group developed a drug, which they would later call insulin, that helped reverse the effects of those suffering from diabetes.
In 1923, Banting, Best, and Collip, who collectively owned the patents for insulin, sold them to the University of Toronto for $1 each.
Banting famously declared, “Insulin does not belong to me; it belongs to the world.”
In February 2021, precisely 100 years after the discovery of insulin, I was admitted to Parkland Hospital in Dallas, suffering from the very symptoms that those doctors at the University of Toronto aimed to curb through their groundbreaking invention.
At the time of my admission, I was suffering from severe fatigue, nausea, and a sharp wheezing pain that lingered with every breath I took; it remains the worst feeling I have ever had to endure. The symptoms were similar to those of the coronavirus, which plagued the world at the time, and I was fearful that I had contracted the disease. Because of the severity of my symptoms, I sincerely believed at the time that I was near death.
After two hours of sitting around in a waiting room, I was finally screened by a nurse, who then sent me into a makeshift patient room where I would wait even longer. After one more hour of waiting, I finally received my diagnosis: diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA).
DKA occurs when the body does not have enough insulin to break down glucose to be used for energy. As a result, the body turns to fats to produce energy for itself, which then causes acids, called ketones, to build up in the bloodstream. This excess of ketones in the body causes blood sugar levels to rise to hazardous levels and can be life-threatening.
At the time, I had been a type one diabetic for over seven years, having been diagnosed at the age of 13. As a teenager, I was not always the best at managing my disease, but I had never experienced DKA before.
The truth is, I was scared.
In the days leading up to my admission, I had been rationing my insulin due to not having enough pen needles to take my medication. However, this was not the first time I had to ration my insulin and to make matters worse, Texas experienced the longest freeze, later known as “The Great Freeze,” in the state’s history. Before the intense weather froze and shut down the state, I had trouble refilling my prescriptions consistently, partially because I had to find a new healthcare provider after losing my Medicaid eligibility in August 2020. While finding a new healthcare provider was easy, the application process was far from it, and at one point, I was forced to buy one of my insulin medications from a stranger on Craigslist.
The four days I spent at the hospital felt like four months. My first night in the emergency room was spent in a dark makeshift patient room, where I was so fatigued that all I could remember was fading in and out of sleep, barely opening my eyes even when nurses would come to check on me. After 28 hours here, I was finally given my own room. Due to the severity of the COVID-19 pandemic, visiting hours were limited to only one hour a day and one visitor at a time, which meant my family members could not see me.
The second night at the hospital was the longest night of my life. I had trouble sleeping after spending the previous 28 hours only awake for no more than one hour combined. I had the most amazing view outside my window of the Dallas skyline, and as the night inched closer, the world seemed to fade into darkness, leaving me to look at my reflection in the window the entire night.
I did a lot of self-reflecting that night. I was ashamed that I allowed myself to fall into this position, where death, according to the doctors, was a lot closer than I imagined. I felt that I should have done more to ensure I was adequately stocked on my supplies and blamed myself for not taking proper care of my body. While some of those sentiments are true, I later realized I was not entirely to blame for my misfortune.
Instead, I was failed by the American healthcare system that prides itself on being the most innovative and beneficial in the world.
Cartoon by Joel Orff, 2022.
In 2021, it was revealed that one in five Americans with diabetes reported rationing insulin due to high costs. The same study found that “of those rationing insulin because of cost, the percentage younger than 65 years was highest among Hispanic adults (87.4%) and those with type 1 diabetes (98.5%).” I am both a type one diabetic and a Hispanic adult.
When it was reported that Luigi Mangione, a 26-year-old Ivy League graduate, allegedly gunned down United HealthCare CEO Brian Thompson in Manhattan on December 4, 2024, I was admittedly not surprised that a situation like this had taken place. It was later revealed that Mangione had grown frustrated with corporate greed and corruption within the American healthcare industry, labeling those within the system as “parasites.”
As Mangione awaits trial on multiple counts of murder, which include a count of murder as an act of terrorism, the world has seemingly forgotten his message and focused more on his appearance. Initially, thousands of Americans saw Mangione as a modern-day Robin Hood, who engaged in vigilante justice to right the wrongs in society. But now Mangione has been reduced to a picture of a shirtless man with a six-pack, prompting social media fan edits that call for his release but fail to amplify his message.
A demonstrator protesting the arrest of Luigi Mangione. AP Photo/Stefan Jeremiah.
While I do not condone his actions, I can still understand them. Society often fails to realize the psychology of humans left in isolated darkness–both physically and metaphorically–for so long. The mind can only take so much before realizing it must retaliate to ensure survival. In Mangione’s case, he believed that America’s healthcare system was actively killing individuals by placing profit over people, a common theme in America’s capitalist society, and that he must act to preserve his existence.
Mangione’s message, I believe, is a simple one: fight back against those who oppress you. The methods do not have to be the same, and most of society would agree that killing is not the answer. However, the people must not ignore the rise of violent rhetoric that has plagued this country in the past decade. Whether it is a claim that America’s biggest threat, more than Russia or China, is “the enemy from within,” or telling far-right extremist groups to “stand back and stand by,” even those in the highest positions have implicated themselves in the acceptance of violence in their pursuit of power.
Nearly four years after my four days in the hospital, I am grateful to have healthcare insurance that covers the cost of my medications and supplies. I understand that not every American has this privilege. As a result, I know my role–both as a journalist and a human–is to advocate for those in less favorable positions than mine. The past two administrations have done great work to lower the cost of insulin for some, but many diabetics are still struggling to afford their medications and supplies.
It has been 4,149 days and more than 16,500 insulin shots since my diagnosis in 2013. Diabetes has molded itself into my life, and no part of the last 12 years with this disease has been easy. A 26-year-old man should not feel emboldened to kill for his cause, but in the same breath, a 19-year-old boy should not be reduced to buying his medication from Craigslist for his survival.
For more information and diabetes resources, visit the American Diabetes Association.