Chapter 1 - THE EMPTY RESERVOIR
The morning of Black Friday began with a mechanical terror that every Type 1 diabetic knows deep in their bones: the frantic, rhythmic chirping of an insulin pump sounding its empty alarm. Standing in the kitchen in my old Ohio State sweatshirt, I looked down at the flashing red light on my hip and realized my reservoir was completely dry. My sister, Nora, stood right beside the counter holding four vials of my fast-acting insulin, her finger hovering over the garbage disposal switch.
For two years, Nora had faked having diabetes to steal our parents' attention, faking thirty-seven medical episodes until our cousin Bex and Aunt Sophie exposed her lies at Thanksgiving. Now, given thirty days to move out, she had decided to take her revenge by destroying my life support. With empty insulin pens already floating in the sink and the vital backup cartridges laid out like evidence, Nora smiled and told me she wanted me to record a video admitting I had coached her to fake her symptoms, or she would watch me run out of insulin entirely.
