Noah's Publications & Manuscripts

Acceptance Speech for DESA's Athletic Achievement Award

(Given at the West Chester, PA National Conference and featured in the DESA Challenge, Fall 2005)

18 months ago I saw this award presented at a conference in Chicago when I was looking for support for a dream I had. I never considered the possibility of taking part in a future ceremony primarily because of the calibre of athletes that I saw receiving the award as well as those observing. Real Iron Men and Women, right down to the medallions. Secondly, I thought I would be escaping to S.A. to stay indefinitely.

In the same succinct manner that all loose ends get knotted along destiny's path, 7 months later I had found a sponsor who believed in the project and I was Southbound. Without so much help from Lifescan and John Bradford in particular, I would not be standing here. I think I would still be standing somewhere (my control isn't that bad), but the same journey wouldn't have been possible without help through its duration. Not only did they trust and support me, but they were also able to donate to a clinic I visited merely upon request. I'm proud to be associated with a company with a global conscience like Lifescan and I'm so thankful for all the help they've given me.

Not a big self promoter, I called the project some obscure name like... "Noah's Voyage." I had three main foci for the journey that managed to stay static throughout all the plot twists. One focus was to keep an audience in the U.S informed by way of writing. Looking back now at what I packed when I left, it's clear that my vision of South America was one big rugged jungle with cities popping up occasionally in the clearings. Not surprisingly, I posted semi-regular updates on my website partially so a search party would have my last known whereabouts. More importantly, I was able to share information on travelling, exercise and advocacy through published editorials and updates. I tried to tailor articles to be somewhat for all ages, but with the right amount of craziness to grab the attention of young-adult diabetics who's battle for independence is forever intertwined with diabetes.

As the project progressed, encouragement poured in from different organizations. DESA was one of the most supportive of my written work and published my first piece in the Challenge newsletter so many months ago. I want to thank DESA and Judith Jones-Ambrosini for the opportunity to let my voice be heard, then and now. What's still sinking in is this larger-scale recognition from DESA, which as an organization has always exemplified the non-complacency theme (in regards to exercise and advocacy) that was central to my mission. I believe DESA's empowering message of diabetic control can change more lives for the better, faster than any research into future cures.

To spread this message as I travelled around, I wore the old "I Run On Insulin" shirt until it ran out. When I tried to drop it in a pile, it would spread into a puddle. Signs of complications surfaced and I was forced to amputate so that the slogan could live on. This little piece of shirt has gone through a lot just to be in my breast pocket today. At the same time, I had become slightly desencitized to the second focus of the journey, and the importance of spreading the message of no diabetes imposed limitations. I went to South America with my mind set on being an International River Raft guide among other athletic pursuits. After working and volunteering on some of the most intense rivers in South America, the only limitations I experienced were those imposed by not possessing gills, rather than having diabetes.

I always preached the "no limits" message, but I forgot how surprising it could be to many people. It shocked a few travellers with diabetic family members who previously thought travelling was an impossibility, and were genuinely inspired. It also shocked a few raft passengers who thought river guiding without a functional pancreas was an impossibility, and were genuinely afraid. They'd find out at the snack stop and inquire about the danger I had just added to their river trip. I'd explain that I had my condition under tight control and there was nothing to worry about, but after a few interactions like this I stopped caring. I started improvising: "Oh ma'am, you're absolutely right, there are some real man-eating holes just downstream. You'd better give your chocolate bar back to me so I don't freak out and subject you to the terrible side-effects of this disease!"

The rivers' lessons in mortality brought the athletic focus of the voyage to shores that this captain never could have charted and a cause that was bigger than most white water (excluding Dolor de Muela rapid on Peru's Apurimac river). A desire for a larger audience and a niche to teach, led me to the slightly safer and more socially acceptable pursuit of fire dancing with spinning balls of diesel and gasoline. The transition to street performance brought on training in juggling, martial arts, dance and music. The performance always gathered a crowd of people that were absolutely enthralled or waiting for an accidental barbeque. I started a performance group of two with my brother called the Instruments of the Now. Our message, passed out on a flyer at each performance, was to spread love and compassion for all by living in the instant. The performance group was an essential development in the adventure, as it elevated us from tourist to artisan status, and allowed us to hop the fence to the inside of the culture. The youth circus culture in South America is as big as the hip-hop culture in the U.S. and my growing skills gave me another channel to relate to and transfix the diabetic youth at the different diabetes organizations I visited.

The seeking of knowledge in foreign clinics and diabetes organizations was the other cornerstone of the journey. As I volunteered and absorbed information, I was grateful for the educational material and supplies that Lifescan and Novo Nordisc were able to offer, yet these gestures were always upstaged by the hospitality shown to me despite the complete absence of funds. Widespread poverty thrown in with a skewed cultural perception of diabetes shook me hard and wouldn't quit. From country to country the problems were the same: education and funding. There is no funding from the governments of South America who are waiting in vain for the epidemic to die out. Medical companies show support in many countries, but require a strong market and a profit to make business worthwhile. This situation reinforces the label of diabetes as a rich-person's disease and leaves impoverished countries without enough affordable supplies. On a smaller scale still, most patients can't get the basic education and medication necessary to take care of themselves, in spite of nearly at-cost resale prices and devoted and over-worked educators and clinic staff. Governments, companies and organizations all have their own agendas and valid reasons for the order of priorities, but Education about unifying efforts to control the epidemic is imperative not only in South America, but everywhere.

I'm not expert, but my experience is consistent with what I think is an obvious point: millions of people suffering from diabetes in Latin America are not waiting for a new pancreas, or a new pump. They need the basic supplies and education that we can so easily take for granted in this privileged country. My research and project don't point to an urgent need for a cure that's just waiting on the horizon. It points to the present moment and organizations like DESA. The cure is a way of life that you are all living. As I look out at all of you now, I don't think there's a single diabetic who is still sour about their diagnosis and is waiting for a cure to fix their life.

There has never been a gift better disguised than a reminder of our own mortality. We are all warriors in what Carlos Castaneda refers to as the last battle on earth in his novel Journey To Ixtlan. The warriors in this battle accept everyday as their last and they shine accordingly. None of you exceptional leaders, athletes and teachers, who shine so bright would be sitting here if you were not living the fullest lives possible, and I'm so humbled that you would listen to me say that which is already understood. There's no honor that means more to me than receiving recognition from DESA which is always on the frontlines to keep diabetes in check. I told a friend long ago when I arrived in Ecuador that I would only return to the U.S. when I could wage a better fight than I was fighting in South America. With DESA's help that time has come I'm ready for round two. Thank you DESA, Lifescan, so many who helped so selflessly for so long, my family and my mother Cheryl who is the kindest soul I know.