My Body Has a Case of Mistaken Identity My immune system is very good at its job. Maybe a little too good. Its purpose is to recognize what belongs in my body and what does not. Unfortunately, mine has made a few mistakes. At eleven years old, my immune system decided the insulin-producing cells in my pancreas were the enemy. Type 1 diabetes entered my life, along with insulin, blood sugar checks, carb counting, endocrinology appointments, and a vocabulary most eleven-year-olds never need to learn. Then came Hashimoto's disease. Another case of mistaken identity, but this time, my thyroid was the target. Celiac disease eventually joined the list. Gluten became something my immune system believed required an attack, meaning food became another part of my life requiring labels, calculations, questions, and vigilance. Three autoimmune diseases. One body. And now, one future nurse. Living with multiple autoimmune diseases has given me an unusual education long before I entered Bryan College of Health Sciences. Nursing school is teaching me the science behind disease. My own body has been teaching me what disease feels like. There is an important difference. A textbook can explain hypoglycemia. It cannot explain what its like to feel your blood sugar dropping while you're trying to act normal around everyone else. A lecture can describe celiac disease. It cannot teach you the awkwardness of asking how food was prepared, worrying about cross-contamination, or realizing that something as ordinary as eating requires planning. A lab result can identify an abnormal thyroid level. It can't show everything that happens between appointments while a patient is still expected to go to class, work, maintain relationships, and keep moving forward. That is where I believe I can make a difference. As a nurse, I want to care for the space between the lab results. When a patient with diabetes has a high A1C, I want to understand what happened during the months represented by that number. Were they struggling with their insulin? Could they afford their supplies? Were they afraid of lows? Did they simply get tired of managing a disease that demands attention every hour of every day? I know what it feels like when a number begins to feel like a grade on how well you're taking care of yourself. I never want my patients to feel that way with me. Instead, I want to use my experience to help people with chronic autoimmune conditions understand their diseases, advocate for themselves, and participate in their own care. I want newly diagnosed children and their parents to see someone who has lived with autoimmune disease and still went to college, became a nurse, and built a life beyond her diagnoses. I'm especially interested in helping change the conversation surrounding chronic illness. Successful healthcare cannot only ask, "What should this patient be doing?" We also have to ask, "What is standing in their way?" Sometimes the answer will require education, or better technology, or financial resources. And sometimes a patient simply needs a nurse who believes them when they say, "This is hard." My immune system may have a problem recognizing what belongs. Living with it has taught me exactly where I belong. I belong beside patients who are scared, frustrated, exhausted, or newly diagnosed. I belong in healthcare, where my experiences can become more than challenges I've learned to manage. They can become tools for understanding someone else. I can't teach my immune system to stop making mistakes, but as a nurse, I can make sure the healthcare system does a better job of understanding the people who live with them.

I didn't set out to become an adaptive athlete, I became one by learning how to keep playing the sport I love while working through physical challenges most athletes never have to face. I started playing volleyball when I was in elementary school. I loved playing with my friends, and I was inspired by my favorite team, the Huskers. By high school, I was competing on both varsity and club teams, and growing my skills as a volleyball player. At the same time, I was managing Type 1 diabetes, along other chronic health conditions, which meant that every practice, game, and tournament required a level of preparation and awareness that most athletes never have to think about. Learning to compete while constantly monitoring my glucose was one of the biggest challenges I've faced. Blood sugar doesn't follow a schedule and it doesn't always cooperate with the demands of a physically active young woman. There were times when I felt perfectly fine, only to have my blood sugar drop unexpectedly. It would frustrate me to have to go to the bench, check my levels, treat my low, and miss out on playing time that I worked so hard for. It didn't match up with my goals. I wanted to be consistent, reliable, and fully in the game, but my body sometimes had other plans. I had to learn to stay mentally strong when things didn't go as expected. I had to become more in tune with my body, more disciplined in my routines, and more patient when things changed. I leaned on my support system, like my mom, who came to every game with a bag of sugary snacks, and my coach, who famously called a time-out in the first minute of a game to bring me a juice box on the court. Communicating with my coaches and team helped me advocate for what I needed. Over time, my teammates and coaches became just as aware of my blood sugar symptoms as I was. To me, being an adaptive athlete means finding a way to move forward when the path isn't straight or clear. It means always showing up, even when there are extra challenges waiting for you. Its about using resources, being resilient, and being determined. My experience has taught me that I am strong in ways that are physically invisible. I have the ability to adjust and keep going. Sports shaped my mindset in ways that reach far beyond the court. Volleyball taught me to push through difficult moments and reach for my goals. Living with a disability while competing has given me confidence because I know what it takes to succeed. I've learned that I can do the hard things because I'm willing to put in the effort to make them possible. That mindset carries over into other areas of my life, like academics and future career plans. I plan to continue pushing myself personally and academically as I move into the next stage of my life. While I may not compete at the same level, the lessons I've learned as an adaptive athlete will stay with me. I will carry forward the discipline, resilience, and advocacy that I learned on the volleyball court. My experiences have also inspired my plans to become a nurse where I can support others facing their own challenges with the same determination. My experience as an athlete hasn't been typical, but it has been meaningful. I've learned how to adapt, advocate, and take action even when it's hard. More than anything, that is what defines me as an athlete.

I was 11 years old when I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. At that age, I didn't fully understand how much my life was about to change. I just knew that my parents were suddenly very worried about me and nothing was as simple as it once was. A few weeks after my hospital stay for my Type 1 diagnosis, I found out I also had Celiac disease and Hashimotos disease - what my doctors called the autoimmune trifecta. While other kids my age were focused on school, friends, and sports, I was learning how to count carbs, calculate insulin doses, and recognize gluten in food. But the hardest part wasn't the medical routine, it was learning how to be different in a world where fitting in felt so important. Junior high and high school made that difference more visible. There were times when my continuous glucose monitor or insulin pump would beep, giving me a lot of anxiety because I knew that other kids didn't beep during class. My teachers even made comments about the noises that came from my devices, giving me the assumption that I was being a burden and a bother. I earned the nickname of "Dump Truck". I felt the weight of being "the girl with diabetes" and just wanted to blend in. In high school, I figured out a way to avoid the beeping from my insulin pump, but it came with a high cost - high blood sugar. By changing some settings on my pump I would automatically become less noisy and fit in, but my health would suffer. I felt like it was a fair trade just to fit in. The place where I would start to gain confidence was on the volleyball court. As a committed athlete playing both varsity high school and club volleyball, I refused to let diabetes define my limits. I had coaches who finally advocated for me and cared about my health. They didn't complain about my beeping devices. Instead, they made sure that I was okay. I'll never forget the day that my coach called a time-out in the first minute of a game when she heard my CGM alert for a low blood sugar. She brought me a juice box onto the court and from that moment I knew that my health was being taken seriously by my coach, and I began to take it more seriously as well. The qualities that Carolyn Craddock is remembered for, like kindness, inclusion, work ethic, motivation, determination, drive, and advocacy, are qualities I strive to live out every day. I know what it feels like to stand out in ways you didn’t choose, and because of that, I lead with empathy and inclusion. Managing a chronic illness has required a level of responsibility and persistence that has strengthened my work ethic and determination. And through it all, I’ve developed a drive not just to succeed, but to help others feel seen, supported, and understood. Today, I am pursuing a future in nursing, where I can turn my experiences into purpose. Living with Type 1 diabetes has given me a perspective that goes beyond textbooks. It has shown me what it truly means to be a patient, to face challenges quietly, and to keep going anyway. I didn’t choose this diagnosis, but I have chosen how I respond to it. And I will continue to carry that resilience, compassion, and determination with me in everything I do.