There’s No Life B
We will all be tested.
Not in the same way.
Not at the same time.
Not with the same burdens.
Some people are tested with loss.
Some with health.
Some with uncertainty.
My test came when I was five.
Type 1 diabetes.
A diagnosis that I didn’t choose.
A diagnosis that changed every part of my life before I was even old enough to understand what it meant.
When I was younger, I never accepted that diabetes would stay forever.
I truly believed there would come a day when I’d wake up and everything would be different.
I imagined walking into a doctor’s office and hearing,
“You don’t need insulin anymore.”
I thought one day I’d stop counting carbohydrates.
I’d stop checking my blood sugar.
I’d stop carrying juice boxes everywhere.
I’d stop waking up to alarms in the middle of the night.
I’d finally know what life without diabetes felt like.
That hope stayed with me for years.
As I grew older, I started to understand something that was difficult to accept.
I can always hope for a cure.
I can pray for one every single day.
But I can’t keep waiting for my life to begin after diabetes.
Because life isn’t waiting for me.
It’s happening right now.
And every day that I spend wishing for a different life is another day I forget to appreciate the one Allah has already given me.
Allah tells us in the Qur’an:
قُل لَّن يُصِيبَنَا إِلَّا مَا كَتَبَ اللَّهُ لَنَا ۚ هُوَ مَوْلَانَا ۚ وَعَلَى اللَّهِ فَلْيَتَوَكَّلِ الْمُؤْمِنُونَ
And He also tells us:
فَاصْبِرْ صَبْرًا جَمِيلًا
Sabr was never about never crying.
Never feeling frustrated.
Never asking Allah why.
But that’s not what beautiful patience is.
Beautiful patience is crying in sujood and still trusting Allah.
It’s feeling overwhelmed while continuing to say,
Alhamdulillah.
It’s carrying a burden every single day without letting it pull you away from Allah.
Diabetes has taught me sabr in ways I never imagined.
It taught me that patience isn’t something you either have or don’t have.
It’s something you choose.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Every time I change my pump.
Every time I count my carbohydrates.
Every time I wake up because my sensor alarm goes off at 3 am.
Every time my blood sugar refuses to cooperate for no reason.
Every time I have to smile while quietly fighting a low that nobody else notices.
Every correction.
Every injection.
Every finger prick.
Every hospital visit.
Every tear.
Every moment of exhaustion.
Every single one has been another lesson in patience.
Some days I feel strong.
Other days I feel completely drained.
There are days I don’t want to think about diabetes for even five minutes.
There are days I wonder what life would’ve looked like if I had never been diagnosed.
Would I be different?
Would I worry less?
Would life feel lighter?
I’ll never know.
Because Allah didn’t write that story for me.
He wrote this one.
And maybe that’s because He knew this journey would teach me something no other journey could.
Diabetes taught me gratitude.
It taught me to celebrate things most people don’t even notice.
A blood sugar that stays in range overnight.
A meal I enjoyed without stress.
A workout that didn’t end in a low.
A peaceful night’s sleep.
An ordinary day.
Those things became extraordinary to me.
It also taught me compassion.
Because you never know what someone else is carrying.
Some people are fighting battles you can see.
Others are carrying battles that stay completely invisible.
Mine just happens to beep.
Mine happens to come with insulin.
Mine happens to be called Type 1 diabetes.
But every single person has something they’re carrying.
Maybe that’s why Allah reminds us to trust Him.
Because we only see one page of our story.
Allah sees the entire book.
There are still nights where I make du’a for a cure.
There are still moments where I ask Allah to make this journey easier.
And I always will.
Hope is part of my faith.
But I no longer place my life on hold while waiting for diabetes to disappear.
Because maybe Allah never intended for me to wait.
Maybe He intended for me to live.
To grow.
To help others.
To remind someone else that they are not alone.
Maybe that’s why Living Blue exists.
Maybe that’s why I’m sharing my story.
Not because I have all the answers.
But because if my journey helps even one person feel understood, then maybe this test has already become a blessing in ways I couldn’t have imagined.
There isn’t a Life B.
There isn’t another version of my life waiting somewhere without diabetes.
There is only this life.
The one Allah chose for me.
The one He wrote for me long before I took my first breath.
And if Allah chose this path for me, then there must be goodness in it even if I can’t see it yet.
Maybe I won’t understand every hardship in this life.
Maybe I won’t always understand why diabetes became part of my story.
Maybe I wasn’t meant to.
But I trust that one day, Allah will show me why every high, every low, every sleepless night, every hospital visit, every tear, every moment of fear, and every lesson had to happen exactly the way they did.
Until then, I’ll continue to trust Him with the story He chose for me.
Because Allah never promised us a life without hardship.
He promised us that nothing reaches us except what He has written, and that every test carries wisdom even when we cannot understand it.
So maybe diabetes isn’t the end of my story.
Maybe it’s the chapter that taught me sabr.
The chapter that brought me closer to Allah.
The chapter that taught me gratitude.
The chapter that helped me find purpose.
The chapter that led me to create Living Blue.
I don’t know what tomorrow looks like.
I don’t know if a cure will come in my lifetime.
But I know this:
I refuse to spend my life waiting for another life to begin.
I’ll continue making du’a.
I’ll continue hoping.
I’ll continue trusting Allah’s plan.
And I’ll continue living the life He wrote for me with all of its highs, lows, victories, setbacks, and lessons.
Because there is no Life B.
There is only this life.
And if this is the life Allah wrote for me, then I want to make the most of it with faith in my heart, hope in my prayers, and trust in his plan.