Crisis in the Middle East

Living with diabetes in Iran has never been an easy matter, but everything has become harder since 28 February. The days we hope become memories and we call them “the days we remained sweet and strong.”

The psychological pressure of being in a war, the fear of losing our fellow citizens, and the shortages of food and medicine are our primary terrors. We, people with diabetes in Iran, live in dread of returning to insulin syringes due to the halt in the import of insulin pens. Many of us, driven by stress, have forgotten the fundamental principles of diabetes management, although the “Diabetes and Crisis” classes organised by the Gabric diabetes association have helped mitigate this to a great extent. Establishing these classes was a challenge in itself for Gabric’s volunteers and organisers, given the communication constraints in Iran. For many of us, it wasn’t just the sound of explosions that terrified us; it was the thought with every blast: “Where are my insulin and my glucometer right now?”

Being a person with diabetes in the midst of war has taught us to exert greater control over our emotions, to be more patient, and to endure life even through the pain. War is an opportunity for us to truly understand those around us, to realise how much we love our homeland, and even to learn how to be a source of peace for others, even when we ourselves are under immense pressure.

We are incredibly resilient. Perhaps few people realise that managing diabetes alongside a war is like carrying a burden even heavier than before, facing anxieties far beyond those of others. Mothers of children with diabetes have learned to be strong, to not fear, to not cry, and to keep an even closer eye on their children. In the midst of fear and despair, when we are most likely to neglect ourselves, diabetes reminds us to: ‘Get up, keep going, and be strong.’

As the New Year began in Iran, we, people with diabetes, made another wish that:

“Diabetes would never again be a source of stress for any family, and that peace and a good life return to Iran”

To us, “war and challenges” is a familiar term. The war we face today, and the world outside, is somewhat similar to our years-long battle for access to modern, insured medicine and equipment. Now, in the midst of conflict, we have learned to fight for our yesterday, our today, and our tomorrow; fighting for a better life with diabetes in Iran.

With all our wounds, we will persevere, we will continue to learn, and we will build a sweet future.

Living with type 1 diabetes in Lebanon during this crisis has been an overwhelming burden. It’s not just about managing blood glucose anymore, it’s about constantly living with the fear of every possible scenario, even death. That fear is always in the back of your mind: what if something happens and I can’t access insulin? What if I can’t reach a hospital? What if I’m alone? Before everything escalated, my life was structured and purposeful. As a university student, I had a routine. I would wake up, grab a coffee, and start my day working on diabetes-related projects, something I am deeply committed to and see as my mission. Alongside that, I balanced my academic responsibilities, preparing papers and assignments, and trying to build a future for myself. Despite the challenges of living with T1D, there was a sense of direction, stability, and hope.  

But everything changed in an instant. When the first shots were fired, my brother and I had to flee our apartment in the city and return to our village. Our lives stopped suddenly, without warning. Everything we had built – our routines, our plans, our sense of normalcy – was put on hold. Living with diabetes in such conditions adds another layer of stress that is hard to describe. Access to medication, proper nutrition, and even basic stability becomes uncertain. What makes it even harder is the emotional toll. Many of my closest friends, the people I shared my daily life with, have left the country. You find yourself feeling isolated, disconnected, and left behind in a place that no longer feels the same. The support system you once relied on is no longer physically there. The mental health impact is real and heavy. Anxiety, fear, and constant overthinking become part of your daily life.  

You’re not just managing diabetes anymore, you’re managing survival, uncertainty and grief all at once. Living with T1D in Lebanon today means carrying both a physical and emotional burden. It’s about resilience, but it’s also about exhaustion. And it’s important for people to understand that behind every person with diabetes in a crisis, there’s a story like this one of fear, disruption, and the struggle to keep going despite everything. 

In times of crisis, managing diabetes becomes more than a daily routine. It turns into a constant, exhausting balancing act shaped by stress, uncertainty, and the need for relentless vigilance, especially while working on the front lines as an emergency medical technician. It’s not just about the external challenges, but also the constant need to monitor blood glucose levels, adjust routines, and stay in control when everything around feels unpredictable.  

The emotional and physical toll can build up quickly, making even simple daily tasks feel overwhelming. Living with diabetes in such conditions requires extra patience, awareness, and resilience. It’s a continuous balancing act between taking care of your health and navigating everything else happening around you. Sharing this experience matters, because it sheds light on the invisible challenges many people face and reminds others that they’re not alone. 

Living with type 1 diabetes is already a constant responsibility. During times of crisis, it becomes even more challenging. During the current instability in Lebanon, managing my condition has no longer been just about routine, it has been about adapting to uncertainty. Access to insulin, proper storage, regular monitoring, and maintaining stability become daily concerns. At the same time, stress and fear have directly impacted my blood glucose levels, making them harder to control despite my efforts. The experience has shown me that diabetes does not pause during crises, it requires constant care, even when everything else is unstable. I am deeply grateful to Chronic Care Center for their unwavering support and for never stopping their care for people living with diabetes, no matter the circumstances. By sharing my story, I hope to highlight the urgent need to include people living with diabetes in emergency response plans. Access to medication, care, and support is not a luxury, it is essential.