Carolyn Craddock Memorial Scholarship

The burn instructor yelled for me to gear up. I leaned against the metal bleachers outside the burn tower, palms pressed into my knees, trying to summon the strength to stand. Fifty pounds of bunker gear, an oxygen tank, and protective layers weighed on my body, but it was my dropping blood sugar that truly pinned me in place. My hands trembled. My vision blurred. I forced myself up anyway. “I’m low, Captain!” I ripped off my mask and gear and staggered toward my bag, digging frantically until I found a bottle of apple Snapple. I drank it quickly, clutching my phone in my other hand, staring at my Dexcom, willing the arrow to turn upward. I needed it to rise. I needed to prove I could still do this. But the numbers moved too slowly. By the time my body stabilized, the burn exercise was over. My chance was gone. After eight weeks of training late nights in icy water practicing rescues, hours dragging heavy hoses across fields, hands calloused from tying knots, I had missed the final step needed to earn my certification. I wasn’t just tired. I was defeated. Beneath the exhaustion was a deeper frustration rooted in something I couldn’t control. "Why did it have to be diabetes?" For a moment, it felt like my diagnosis was a barrier between me and everything I had worked for. But that feeling didn’t last. I refused to let it. When the spring semester came, I signed up for the burn test again, this time with a plan. The morning of the test, I checked my blood sugar: 98. Steady. Ready. I fueled my body with eggs, toast, and yogurt, knowing preparation would be my greatest tool. At the fire ground, I carried glucose tablets in every pocket. I wasn’t just hoping I’d make it through, I had built a system to ensure I would. This time, when I geared up, I felt the same weight, but I also felt in control. I monitored my levels, listened to my body, and adjusted when needed. I completed the burn with focus and determination, proving not only to my instructors, but to myself, that diabetes would not define my limits. That moment taught me what it means to be fierce. Being fierce is not ignoring challenges or pushing through recklessly, it is adapting, preparing, and refusing to quit, even when your body works against you. It is showing up again after failure, stronger and smarter than before. But diabetes has also taught me to be kind. I understand what it feels like to struggle silently, to appear capable on the outside while fighting something unseen within. During training, I became more aware of others, checking in on teammates who looked exhausted, encouraging those who doubted themselves, and offering help without being asked. I learned that strength is not just about endurance, but about lifting others when they need it. Carolyn was described as fierce and kind, and through my journey with type 1 diabetes, I have learned to embody both. I fight for my goals with resilience and preparation, and I support others with empathy and understanding. Diabetes has challenged me, but it has also shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and more determined than I ever thought possible.

Can I tell you a secret? The thing I want to do most in life, I can’t. I was 4 years old when I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes (T1D). Finger sticks, carb counting, and shots became daily life. My parents instilled a mantra in me that I could do anything I wanted, we just had to fit T1D into the activity. By high school I was unstoppable. I swam on the varsity swim team, sang and danced in the show choir, acted in school musicals and regularly had my CGM (continuous glucose monitor) ripped off by opponents on the water polo team. I could do anything. Juice boxes in the theater wings, fruit snacks stuffed in my pockets during a choir performance and coaches carrying my glucose tabs. I refused to let T1D stop me. Then came my junior year. On a whim, that year I signed up for a JROTC class my freshman brother was taking. I knew nothing about the volunteering opportunities, physical and academic competition teams and community that lived behind that classroom door. I jumped my Air Force issued boots into a world I fell in love with. I volunteered for as many community service hours I could pack into my schedule, I ran around the woods at night with my fellow cadets at orienteering competitions and I solo flew a plane for 2 minutes with the Civil Air Patrol. Have I mentioned that the OCP pockets on the required uniform hold four juice boxes and six packs of gummies at once? By the end of the year I was the most decorated first year cadet. At the start of second semester I was named Cadet Commander of the entire 82 cadet unit at my high school. My brother was thriving too. He always knew he would go into the military with a goal to attend USMA, West Point. I never had an interest to join the military. After my T1D diagnosis our family’s catchphrase was “Connor can do anything he wants with T1D, except join the military”. It never occurred to me that the military might be something I was interested in…until it was. T1D had finally hit a hard stop in my life. I understand the reason why the rule exists, there is no corner Walgreens on a battlefield to pick up my life sustaining insulin for when I run out. But I still feel jilted for the first time knowing my goal to be a trauma nurse will be regulated to a hospital ER and not a Blackhawk helicopter as a military med corps nurse. I can’t help but try and find a way to fit T1D into my future goals. I have learned that I can work at a hospital on base as a trauma nurse for the men and women in uniform that I respect so much. I refuse to waste time dwelling on what life could be without T1D. I would rather spend that energy on learning my lines for the spring musical, studying for Anatomy or my next JROTC orienteering competition, because some of those maps are impossible to read in the woods at night.

Carolyn and her mom probably do not remember me or my family, but I will forever remember her. I was a very newly diagnosed Type 1 Diabetic playing in one of my first volleyball tournaments since being released from the hospital. I was so nervous; I did not want to pass out or get sick or let my team down. Then I looked over and saw another player wearing a device… could it be another player with T1D? We approached her and her mom with hopeful hearts. The kindness we were met with is a memory that will last forever. Carolyn answered every question with a smile, she made me feel like I was not alone. I know her mom did the same for my mom, sharing her contact information and encouraging words. We are so grateful for all the kindness that day. Similar to Carolyn, fierce is a word that my parents use to describe me as well, fiercely loyal to my friends, fierce in competition (13 varsity letters), and fiercely dedicated to my studies (cumulative GPA of 4.3 with multiple CCP courses). But being a T1D comes with many many daily challenges. Managing blood sugar levels during multi-day tournaments can seem impossible at times. However, one of the most significant challenges I have faced was my freshman year with the varsity volleyball coach. She didn’t understand Type 1 Diabetes and did not seem to want to learn. She would make comments like “your diabetes is giving me an ulcer” or “your insulin pump makes me want to puke”. She also implied that when I needed to sit out because my blood sugar was low, I was being lazy or “faking it”. As a freshman who was nervous to be on the court with 18-year-old seniors, this caused a great deal of anxiety. However, I stayed dedicated and continually tried to politely educate her about being a Type 1 Diabetic. I am not sure that she ever completely understood, but the comments lessened, and I earned my varsity letter. Another way that I exemplify Carolyn’s characteristics is through my volunteer work with children with disabilities. I have, for the past 4 years, volunteered with children with disabilities in a variety of ways including Miracle League/Buddy Ball, at the Hilliard Preschool (for children with learning disabilities), and with Best Buddies. Best Buddies is a program at my high school for students with mental and physical disabilities where I have the privilege to help teach students life skills and other academic work appropriate to their level of understanding. As a trusted peer role model in the program, I am able to attend special events such as Best Buddies Prom and field trips with the students. One of my favorite events is field day where students from Best Buddies program across the Hilliard school district come together and all the activities are modified to maximize the number of students with different disabilities that can participate. Being able to help students with disabilities play sports and seeing the joy on their faces is a cherished high school memory. However, my favorite part of participating in the program is the daily interactions with the students one on one. For example, Mattie, who is nonverbal, often lightens the mood in the classroom by snorting like her favorite Peppa Pig character. I, however, have gained so much more from working with the students than I have given. The students have taught me to always have a positive attitude and to never give up. The students in the classroom are truly my role models.