In college I raised $52 for the American Cancer Society. I walked miles in my tired, achy body because yes, I believed in furthering cancer research, but also because it was the most relatable cause I could find. I was not a cancer patient, nor did I know anyone affected by it; but I knew cancer patients called the hospital their second home, just like I did. Like me, everyone cares about something outside of themselves; it’s the definition of humanity; it’s the reason we have volunteers who walk miles and passionate advocates who take on the burdens of the victims they fight for.

On December 22, 2008, the General Assembly of the United Nations (UN) a resolution that recognized sickle cell disease as a global public health concern. This resolution urged the member countries and UN organizations to raise awareness at national and international levels on the 19th of June annually. The first World Sickle Cell Day was celebrated on June 19, 2009.

Sickle cell disease is an inherited disorder that causes red blood cells to become hard, sticky, and look like a C-shaped farm tool called a “sickle’’. Researchers learned that the change in shape was due to a glutamic acid switch to valine at the biochemical level.

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When I think back on my life, back when I lived with sickle cell disease, I remember my first day of kindergarten — closing my eyes to check if I was feeling pain anywhere in my body. I didn’t. I felt completely normal. That would be the last time I would feel normal for a long time.

Another memory that sticks with me was of a nurse giving me a shot, and the surprised look on her face when I didn’t cry or flinch. I told her there was no point in crying over the things you cannot change. I was resigned to living with pain from sickle cell disease for the rest of my life.

In high school, every morning started with turning off my alarm, rolling over and taking a cocktail of pills: hydroxyurea, penicillin and oxycodone.

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