A Story of Survival, Faith, and Transformation
The month of March 2025 was a month to remember for me.
A month of reckoning.
A month that I was sick 19 out of 20 days.
But March 20th—that day changed my life forever.
It all started around March 6th. I wasn’t feeling well at all.
I still remember my supervisor, Ann Glover, telling me,
“Mac, you need to go to the doctor. I can feel something ain’t right. You’re not yourself.”
And she was right.
I wasn’t Mac—not the guy who shows up to work singing Roxanne.
Even though I’m not good at singing (definitely not my gift), I used to sing anyway.
Just to entertain myself—or maybe annoy a few people.
But I wasn’t singing. I wasn’t laughing. I wasn’t myself.
I was sick.
And I blew Ann’s advice off.
I figured whatever this was—I could beat it.
I kept pushing through, waiting on my doctor’s appointment.
That appointment was set for Thursday, March 20th at 2:00 PM.
I planned to go to work that day and leave early.
But I couldn’t sleep the night before.
I tossed and turned.
Every time I woke up, I had to pee.
It felt like everything I drank was running straight through me.
At 6:45 AM, I texted Becky Sisco and Ann to let them know I wouldn’t be coming in.
I told them I was still feeling sick, but I had my appointment later that day.
Becky simply replied:
“ok.”
I took some over-the-counter sleeping pills and went back to sleep.
That day was wild.
Each time I woke up, I found myself asking,
Why am I dreaming about dead people?
Every time I fell asleep, I saw someone dead in my dreams.
It was strange. Disturbing. Like something spiritual was trying to get my attention.
Later, I checked the time again—I didn’t want to miss my appointment.
But I had no strength to cook.
So I DoorDashed a Sonic cheeseburger, large tater tots, and a “dirty” Dr. Pepper—the kind with frosting on top.
I even added a banana shake with whipped cream.
I ate it all.
And then… I started feeling even worse.
Every time I got up to go to the bathroom, it felt like I was getting weaker and weaker.
By the time I pulled myself out of bed again, it was 12:45 PM.
I made myself take a shower and get dressed.
It took me almost an hour and a half just to get ready.
I was so weak, so out of it—I wasn’t thinking clearly.
Still, I drove myself to the doctor.
I checked in and waited.
Eventually, I was called back, and Dr. Dang came in to see me.
“Mac, you don’t look good,” he said. “How do you feel?”
I told him about the dreams.
I told him how hard it was just to get there.
He told me to sit down—he was ordering some labs.
He left the room.
Fifteen minutes later, he came back with a serious look on his face.
“I know what’s wrong with you,” he said.
“You have diabetes. And it’s dangerous.”
He continued:
“Your blood sugar is so high that our machines couldn’t even read it.
We had to email your results to the lab at Arkansas Baptist.
Your blood sugar level is 1480.”
One thousand four hundred and eighty.
Then he looked me dead in the eyes and said,
“I can call an ambulance to take you to the hospital… or, if you think you can, drive yourself.
But you need to go now. You are in critical danger.”
I didn’t fully understand the gravity of what he was saying.
I just said, “I’ll drive.”
But as soon as I got into my car, I thought,
Man… I’m hungry.
I still have that banana shake at the house.
Instead of going straight to the hospital,
I went home.
I sat down on the sofa and drank that banana shake.
But something was wrong.
I got so weak I couldn’t stand up.
Spots started circling in my eyes.
My body felt like it was shutting down.
I barely had the strength to pick up the phone.
And I wasn’t thinking about 911—though I should’ve been.
Instead, I called my daughter Tiffany to come get me and take me to the hospital.
She told me she couldn’t.
I kept calling around for the next 15 minutes, but it felt like an eternity.
No one picked up. And the few who did… they said no.
Funny how people are.
I’m there when they need something—every time.
But when it was me this time?
Nobody had the time.
And then the phone rang.
Crystal Hardwick, one of the workers I supervise, was calling me—just to check in.
“Hello?” I said, barely.
“Mac… you don’t sound good,” she replied.
“I’m not,” I told her. “I tried calling my daughter and other family to take me to the hospital.
They can’t—or won’t. I feel so weak. I might as well just go lay down.”
She responded in a voice that was both loving and firm:
“I’ll be there. Where do you live?”
I said,
“The Links.”
Crystal showed up and called me from the parking lot.
I stumbled outside, and she helped me into the car.
She took me to the hospital.
They checked me in. Crystal sat in the emergency room with me for about two and a half hours,
but she eventually had to leave.
Not long after she walked out, I was rushed to ICU.
They placed three IVs in me:
One in my left hand, one in my left arm, and one in my right arm.
For the next three days, the only people I saw were doctors and nurses.
I spoke to a couple of my daughters—briefly—but mostly, I was alone.
Then, on Sunday, March 23rd, my daughter Hannah came to visit.
She brought the kids.
Seeing them lifted something in me.
Hope. Joy. Life.
But as soon as they entered the room, Dr. Patel walked in.
She asked,
“Has anyone shown you how to take your insulin shots?”
I said no.
She nodded. “Well, I’ll show you now.
We’re preparing to release you.”
Then she looked at me seriously and said,
“We weren’t sure you were going to make it.
We didn’t know if you were going to walk out of here…
or if we were going to have to carry you out.”
Hannah looked at her.
“It was that serious?” she asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Patel said. “Unfortunately, it was.”
Then Hannah turned to me and said,
“Why didn’t you call somebody?
Like Tiffany—why didn’t you ask for help?”
I looked her in the eyes and said,
“I did.”
After the hospital, Hannah took me to Walmart and Walgreens to pick up my prescriptions.
Then we went home.
She stayed for a little while to visit,
but she had to get back to Northwest Arkansas, an hour away.
And for two weeks after that…
I struggled.
I didn’t know what to eat.
Everything I had in the house was bad for me.
I felt lost.
But after those two weeks, I made a decision.
I was going to conquer my fear.
I started researching food—what I could eat, what I couldn’t.
By April, I started walking 2.5 miles per day.
I changed how I ate completely.
I started eating fruits like blueberries, blackberries, strawberries, and half a banana.
No more soda. No more juice. No junk.
I began to eat clean.
Pinterest gave me meal ideas. Then I found more on TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube.
I learned how to balance meals.
I discovered sweeteners—but I mostly stay away from them.
If I want something sweet, I improvise.
I bought zero sugar cake mix, made cupcakes,
and only ate half a cupcake when I wanted a treat.
I even made my own icing out of cream cheese and low-fat cottage cheese.
I made my own healthy wraps and snacks.
By shocking my body and pushing myself to live,
I dropped from 225 pounds to 179.1 pounds in just four months.
I walk. I exercise.
And I feel good about myself and my accomplishments.
Because I’ve done so well,
the doctor has taken me off all my medications and insulin.
But it wasn’t just about changing what I ate—
It was about changing my whole life.
I decided to start writing.
Writing is therapeutic for me.
I write short stories. Poems. Testimonies.
I even created a website to share my journey.
I used to wear my hair short—now I have braids.
Not just my health has changed.
My spirit has changed. My mindset. My path.
I decided that I want to live.
Sometimes a person has to make that conscious decision to change.
Nobody can change for them.
They have to want it for themselves.
One day, I was walking through Walmart and ran into a guy I used to work with.
He was in a wheelchair.
We got to talking.
He told me he had diabetes—but didn’t listen to his doctor.
They had to amputate his leg.
And in that moment, I knew God had brought us together.
So I could see—with my own eyes—what could’ve happened to me.
I am nothing short of a miracle.
YHWH God has His hand over me.
So I say:
Thank You, Father, for the mercy You poured over my life.
Let this be an inspiration to somebody reading:
Do not let diabetes defeat you.
Defeat it.
Follow your doctor.
Follow your nutritionist.
And above all—
Choose life.