In silent strides, it comes along,
Not quite a tune, not quite a song.
A mystery masked as type two's fate,
But autoimmune lies in wait.
Beta cells begin their fight,
Slowly fading from their might.
Like type 1, the body turns,
Attacking what it should not burn.
Not a child’s cry, not youthful haste,
But in adults, it finds its place.
LADA walks a quiet track,
Taking time, but not turning back.
At first, it seems a milder tide,
Hyperglycemia on the side.
No need for insulin just yet,
A future some might not forget.
But slowly, slowly, cells will fall,
And insulin will heed the call.
GAD and markers in the blood,
Show the autoimmune flood.
Lifestyle shifts may slow its way,
But insulin must come one day.
Misdiagnosed, it hides in plain,
A slow progression, chronic pain.
LADA lives between the two,
A blend of both, but something new.
An in-between of types that find,
A way to alter health and mind.
