We all have personal diabetes histories, whether they relate to our own diabetes, the diabetes of people we love and care for, or the diabetes of our patients. Sometimes, our diabetes history relates to all of these. I hope my diabetes history helps you think about your own and perhaps appreciate it a little more.

March 1959

My diabetes story began in March 1959, when my younger sister Mary Sue was diagnosed with diabetes at the age of 9. My dad was returning from Antarctica at the time. He was a famous Antarctic researcher, and he had spent the previous 16 months as the only American at the Russian South Polar Base. My dad was famous enough to have an Antarctic mountain named after him.

My mom decided not to tell my father about my sister's diabetes until he got home. I can still remember the night of my dad's return as my younger brother and I lay awake all night, holding hands across the space between our beds, listening to our parents crying in the living room below because my sister had diabetes.

Diabetes changed our lives. There was lots of weighing and measuring and worrying. My sister had to give herself insulin with a glass syringe—no disposable syringes in those days—and she had to boil her syringe before each use. She also spent time each evening sharpening the syringe needle with steel wool so the shots wouldn't hurt as much.

In those days, we didn't have blood glucose monitoring, so Mary Sue checked her urine for glucose. I still remember the drill: two drops of urine in a test tube, add 10 drops of water, then pop in the Clintest tablet, wait for the fizzing to stop, and check the color. Blue was good, and orange was bad.

Within a …