Texas Diabetes Crisis: Abbott's Appointments Miss the Mark

Texas is bleeding, not from a wound you can see, but from a silent epidemic that’s tearing through its people. Over 3.1 million adults here live with diagnosed diabetes, a number that swells by 230,000 new cases each year. In East Texas, prevalence rates climb past 14%, a grim testament to a crisis that’s outpacing the state’s ability to respond. Governor Greg Abbott’s recent appointments to the Texas Diabetes Council, announced on April 9, 2025, sound like progress on paper: K. Renee’ Yarbrough-Yale, Dirrell Jones, Michael Kelly, and Jason Ryan, all tapped to serve until 2031. They’re qualified, sure, with resumes stacked with degrees and titles. But here’s the hitch, it’s not enough, not even close.

This isn’t about doubting their expertise. Yarbrough-Yale coordinates inpatient diabetes programs; Kelly drives health initiatives in El Paso; Jones and Ryan bring legal and corporate heft. They’re poised to advise the Texas Legislature on education and care systems, a mandate the Council’s held since 1983. Yet, while their appointments might polish the state’s image, they dodge the real fight. Diabetes isn’t just a medical issue; it’s a sprawling, systemic beast fueled by poverty, unequal access, and a healthcare framework that leaves too many Texans behind. Appointing a council feels like rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship when what we need is a lifeboat.

Look at the numbers, they scream urgency. This disease costs Texas $34 billion annually, $25 billion of that in direct medical bills. Medicaid shoulders $6-8 billion alone, and that’s with 16.6% of the state uninsured as of 2022. For those without coverage, diabetes isn’t a managed condition; it’s a ticking clock to emergency rooms, amputations, and worse. The Council’s role, advising on legislation and education, matters, but it’s a whisper against a gale-force problem. We need seismic change, not a committee.

Diabetes doesn’t hit everyone equally, and Texas knows it. Along the Texas-Mexico border, Hispanic communities face rates far above the state average, tangled up in socioeconomic knots decades in the making. African Americans in East Texas fare no better, with programs like TX STRIDE trying to weave resilience into self-management education. These efforts shine, but they’re patchwork, not a quilt. Continuous Glucose Monitors, game-changers for glycemic control, stay out of reach for many Medicaid patients because of cost, a barrier that mocks the promise of modern medicine.

The Texas Diabetes Council has history on its side, founded as the nation’s first interagency body targeting a chronic disease. Since 1983, it’s pushed awareness, shaped guidelines, and rallied for access to tools like insulin pumps. Its appointees could amplify that legacy, sure. Michael Kelly’s work with the Paso del Norte Health Foundation hints at community-driven solutions; Yarbrough-Yale’s nursing background could spotlight patient needs. But their influence caps out at recommendations. Real power lies with lawmakers, and too many cling to a status quo that shrugs at expanding Medicaid, a move that could cover over a million low-income Texans and slash diabetes’ toll.

Opponents argue the state can’t afford it, that ballooning budgets would choke taxpayers. They point to fiscal restraint, claiming Texas thrives by keeping government lean. But that logic crumbles when you tally the cost of doing nothing. Late diagnoses and untreated complications rack up billions in emergency care, far pricier than prevention. House Bill 2677, pushing Medicaid reimbursement for obesity and diabetes prevention, shows flickers of hope. Yet, without a full-throated commitment to coverage, these are half-measures, leaving rural clinics understaffed and families choosing between groceries and insulin.

Other states offer a roadmap Texas could follow. The National Diabetes Prevention Program, embraced nationwide, cuts type 2 diabetes risk through diet and exercise, no miracles required. States that fold it into Medicaid see results, real ones, with early intervention trimming long-term costs. Telehealth, too, bridges gaps, bringing care to rural corners where doctors are scarce. Texas has dabbled here, with the Council backing virtual education pushes, but it’s timid, not transformative. Scale it up, fund it right, and you’d see diabetes numbers bend, not break families apart.

Education’s another lever. The American Diabetes Association’s 2025 Standards of Care plug tools like GLP-1 agonists and CGMs for broader use, not just for the insulin-dependent. Texas Children’s Hospital trains nurses on pediatric diabetes via virtual conferences, a model that could spread. But healthcare workers need more than webinars; they need resources to tackle the social roots, poverty, poor diets, crumbling infrastructure, that feed this epidemic. The Council’s appointees could scream this from the rooftops, but their voices won’t carry unless lawmakers listen.

And then there’s the uninsured, the 16.6% who haunt every statistic. Expanding Medicaid isn’t a handout; it’s a lifeline. Studies peg it as a way to catch prediabetes before it festers, slashing the 34% of undiagnosed adults at risk. Opponents cry socialism, but they’re blind to the math. A healthier workforce lifts productivity, cuts sick days, and eases the $6.7 billion in indirect costs diabetes drags from the economy. Jason Ryan’s corporate lens at CenterPoint Energy could frame this in dollars and cents, if he’s bold enough to push it.

Governor Abbott’s appointments aren’t wrong; they’re just not enough. The Texas Diabetes Council can draft brilliant plans, but brilliance fades without action. Diabetes isn’t a puzzle for a handful of experts to solve; it’s a statewide emergency demanding every lever of power pulled. Medicaid expansion, telehealth scaled to reach the unreachable, education that doesn’t stop at pamphlets, these aren’t dreams; they’re necessities. The $34 billion price tag isn’t shrinking, and neither is the human cost, blindness, lost limbs, kids burying parents too soon.

Texas stands at a crossroads. The Council’s new blood, Yarbrough-Yale, Jones, Kelly, Ryan, could nudge us toward justice in healthcare, where access isn’t a privilege but a right. But nudging won’t cut it. Lawmakers need to hear the roar of a state fed up with half-steps, a state that demands care for its people, all its people. Diabetes doesn’t wait, and neither should Texas.