I was late this morning. Not because my car broke down, not because my alarm didn't go off.I was late this morning for attempting to avoid hospitalization.Hi, my name is Raven Yule, and I have an autoimmune disease called Type One Diabetes. No, wait, don't click away. This isn't your average "diabetes." I didn't "give this to myself," I didn't "have a bad diet."Type ONE diabetes is an autoimmune disease. That means my autoimmune system attacked my pancreas (the organ that produces insulin—the thing you need to live) and killed it. Simple, yet not at all.I don't expect you to already know everything, unless you have a loved one with TD1 (That's the cool name that us TD1's like more). In the world, there are only about three million of us, whereas there's about forty million people with type two diabetes. Yeah, don't feel bad for not knowing what it is. I didn't know either when I was diagnosed.But, to be fair, I was just a kid. It's the morning of my tenth birthday. I wake up just a normal kid. Unaware that, by nighttime, I wouldn't be such a normal kid anymore. As I walk into the kitchen, I see the giant chocolate cake my mother has baked me and all the birthday balloons.I admit, I don't remember much of the day, other then a large breakfast and asking for seconds.Before dinner, my mother walks in as I'm changing. Immediately she's on the phone with the doctors and has an appointment ready. I complain and ask why on my birthday do I have to go get a check up. She tells me it's probably nothing, but I've lost a lot of weight even though I've been eating a lot. What she didn't tell me was how she could count every rib, or every spine notch.