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No one would choose to live with this time bomb, but millions must. What's heartening is that they can live with diabetes if they manage it carefully—eating healthily, exercising and minimizing stress. Japanese singer Hideo Murata chose not to take control, refusing treatment even though he knew he was diabetic. He had a heart attack in 1995, lost both legs and died last June.
Few have done so as successfully as Wasim Akram. His first hint that something was amiss came in 1997 when he found himself rapidly losing weight. He felt weak and tired, craved desserts and kept waking at night to urinate. A doctor in Lahore diagnosed him with Type 1 diabetes and told him to go on insulin at once. "I was very down," says Akram. "I had heard diabetes only happened to obese people. I'm not fat." Indeed, at the time, Akram was a world-class athlete, a man of 30 and at the height of his career as a fast bowler for Pakistan's national cricket team.
But Akram refused to let diabetes beat him. After three weeks, he was back on the field. He tested his sugar levels 10 times a day, pricking a hole in each finger to draw blood. He injected himself with insulin three times daily and ratcheted up his fitness regimen, heading to the gym for two hours a day. "I learned that the best way to control the sugar levels is to exercise," he says. Akram also came to quickly recognize signs that he is weakening. "I start sweating and feel hungry," he says, "and I have a chocolate on the boundary line." Only when he's bowling does he miss an insulin shot, since the exertion burns off enough sugar to keep his body functioning without medication.
His efforts have paid off. In 1999, just two years after being diagnosed with diabetes, Akram captained Pakistan to the World Cup finals. Today, he reigns as one of the game's all-time greats: only three bowlers in the history of test-match cricket have taken as many wickets. Next year, Akram plans to retire from cricket and focus increasingly on educating people about diabetes. He's already traveled throughout Pakistan, as well as to Australia and England, to speak about combating the disease by living healthily. "People listen to me," he says. "They think: If he can do it, so can we."
For a kid like Anson, learning to lead a healthy life hasn't been easy. But he's trying. He spends more time nowadays riding his bike and playing football. He makes an effort to eat fruit instead of chips, and he ducks out when his friends go to McDonald's—though he's too embarrassed to tell them why. To regulate his blood sugar, Anson takes a drug called Metformin before breakfast and dinner each day. So far, it's working. But his doctors have warned him: If he can't keep his weight under control, he's likely to end up needing insulin. Anson, who is afraid of needles, shudders at the prospect; for years, he has watched his diabetic father injecting himself with the drug. This life—this fear—is a heavy burden for a boy of 14. But Anson knows he must be tireless in fighting diabetes; for the disease, as Asia is learning, will be ruthless.