Pedro Al Derjani
Diabetes
Lebanon

My journey with diabetes officially began in June 2016, but the signs first appeared a few months earlier, in March of that year. At the time, I was a 17-year-old high school student living in Rachiine, a picturesque village nestled in North Lebanon. Despite its beauty, the community I grew up in was shaped by deep-rooted stigmas and social pressures. It was not a place where personal struggles were easily shared or understood. That spring, I began experiencing unsettling changes in my body—unrelenting fatigue, intense thirst, rapid weight loss, and frequent trips to the bathroom. I sensed that something was wrong, yet I had no understanding of what it could be. Sadly, neither did those around me.

My symptoms quickly began interfering with my daily life. At school, my need to leave class often to hydrate or use the restroom was met not with concern, but with skepticism. Teachers and peers believed I was faking illness to avoid lessons. Eventually, the school administration expelled me, convinced I was making excuses. It was a devastating and deeply humiliating experience. I felt isolated, dismissed, and increasingly afraid. The lack of awareness about chronic conditions like diabetes in my community meant that my family, too, struggled to comprehend what I was going through. There was no language for what I felt—only silence, confusion, and fear.

By June, my health had deteriorated further. I developed persistent fungal infections that prompted an urgent visit to a doctor. A blood test revealed that my HbA1c was over 14%, leading to a definitive diagnosis of diabetes. I was admitted to the hospital and spent several days there learning how to manage my condition. For the first time, I received proper education about insulin, nutrition, and monitoring my blood glucose levels. One compassionate doctor took the time to support me emotionally and medically. She also introduced me to DiaLeb, the National Diabetes Organization in Lebanon.

At first, the diagnosis felt like a life sentence. I was overwhelmed by fear—fear that my life would be limited, that I would never achieve my dreams, or that I would become “old" before my time. But connecting with DiaLeb was a turning point. Through their educational sessions and community outreach, I began to see diabetes in a different light. I met others who were living full, empowered lives despite the condition. One story that particularly moved me was that of Silvie Maalouf, daughter of Dr. Jackie Maalouf, who lives with type 1 diabetes and faces life with courage and confidence. Her story gave me hope and reframed my understanding of what it means to live with a chronic condition.

Motivated by this new perspective, I became actively involved in diabetes awareness initiatives through DiaLeb. I volunteered for events, participated in campaigns, and began sharing my own story to educate others. Each interaction reminded me of why this work mattered. I realized I wanted to be the voice I never had—the voice that could have spared me from shame, confusion, and isolation during those early months. This growing passion for advocacy eventually led me to join the International Diabetes Federation’s Young Leaders in Diabetes (YLD) program.

Becoming a YLD was transformative. It connected me with young people from around the world who shared not only a diagnosis, but a common commitment to education, advocacy, and empowerment. Together, we exchanged stories, ideas, and strategies for tackling the social and systemic challenges faced by people living with diabetes. It gave me the opportunity to speak not just for myself, but for others—especially youth in underserved communities—who deserve to be seen, heard, and supported.

Today, I look back on my journey with both pride and humility. What began as a painful and confusing chapter in a quiet Lebanese village has grown into a mission of purpose and resilience. My experience taught me that a diagnosis is not the end of the road, but the beginning of a new one. It taught me that from silence can come strength, and from struggle can come advocacy. I am committed to continuing this journey—raising awareness, educating others, and working to ensure that no young person faces diabetes in fear or isolation.

Through platforms like DiaLeb, the YLD program, I hope to amplify the voices of those still waiting to be heard. Every story matters, and every patient deserves the dignity of understanding, support, and hope. My voice may have been silenced once—but today, it speaks louder than ever.