You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Awareness’ category.
Diabetes is expensive. It’s an annoyingly costly, big budget, monstrous money pit, and I know no one who has ever thought ‘This diabetes thing is an awesome way to have less disposable cash.’
I used to refer to the money I paid for insulin pump consumables as ‘shoe money’, because for the three or so years after starting on a pump, and before consumables being listed on the NDSS, I couldn’t afford to feed my shoe habit as regularly as I’d have liked.
More than twenty years later, my family’s finances may be a little more comfortable than back when Aaron and I were newlyweds with a newly-minted mortgage, but the cost of diabetes still factors into our budget, and it’s undeniable that sometimes diabetes feels as thought we’re flushing hard-earned cash down the loo.
I remember a few years ago tallying up my annual diabetes costs and I got so depressed I bought a new handbag. This makes no sense to anyone other than me, but I felt better, momentarily forgetting that I was a drain on my family, with a lovely new bag to carry around all my expensive diabetes paraphernalia.
Last week, JDRF Australia launched a new report which breaks down the economic costs of living with diabetes. It looks at costs to the individual with diabetes (and their family), as well as costs to health systems, health budgets and the economy. It also looks at how significant savings can be made by better investing in technology subsidies.
I can’t help but read these sorts of figures and get defensive because I already feel as though I am burden to the world and this just quantifies it. But that’s not the intent, and actually, having this sort of data is incredibly useful when adding up just what diabetes costs. It’s useful for diabetes organisations in our advocacy, and it’s useful for people in the diabetes community too.
Of course, it’s important to remember that while putting a dollar figure on life with a chronic health condition is important, that is only ever one part of what needs to be included in its expenses. The non-monetary costs are huge, and must also be counted. There is the emotional toll, the physical toll and the impact on family and friends. And there is time. There is hypo recovery time, hyper management time, diabetes admin time and health appointment time. There is the time we spend on advocacy efforts, time dedicated to keeping our diabetes inventory in check and time spent every single day on diabetes tasks. There’s the time we spend dealing with burnout and distress. It adds up to so, so, so much time.
Not everyone has the desire or inclination to get out front and do some advocacy for themselves, but if you are that type of person, this report from JDRF gives you an added tool in your armoury. In fact, used with the most important part of the case you put forward – your lived experience – and evidence from clinical and behavioural research, you have a fabulously well-rounded picture of just how heavy the diabetes load. This provides a very useful case to take to your local Member of Parliament. Your MPs work for you – get them working!
This is what I spoke about at the World Health Organisation Informal Consultation on Diabetes – putting together a complete narrative which wins hearts and minds. It’s impossible to ignore!
You can watch the live Q & A I hosted with JDRF Australia CEO, Mike Wilson by clicking on the video below, and keep the conversation going at the Diabetes Australia and JDRF Australia Facebook pages.
Disclosures
I work for Diabetes Australia, and hosting these regular Q&As is part of my role. I was not asked to write about today’s Q&A, however, am sharing because this may be of interest to others in the diabetes community.
I went to my first international diabetes conference back in 2011. It was the IDF World Diabetes Congress in Dubai. In a slightly convoluted way in, I was there as a guest of the City of Melbourne. The next Congress was to be held in my home city, so the tourism arm of our local government attended the conference, talking up all that Melbourne has to offer. I was invited to go and spruik the city I love so much, encourage people to make the (very) long haul trip Down Under… and hand out little clip-on koalas while standing next to giant koalas.

After attending and getting a taste for what was on offer at one of these large-scale conferences, I realised that I wanted to be able to be involved in others moving forward. Undoubtedly, it was great professional development for me – as someone working in advocacy in a diabetes organisation – but it was also a great way to network and meet others in the advocacy space, learn about what they were doing, and work out how we could collaborate. I can’t begin to think of all the terrific projects that started in the corridors, running between sessions! And most importantly, I realised that having PWD at diabetes conferences meant that what was on show was being shared with our peers in a way that made sense.
The struggle, of course, was getting to these conferences. Australia is a long way from anywhere and with that comes expensive travel costs. The organisations I have worked for cover maybe a max of one event per year as part of my professional development, so the rest of the time it was up to me to find a way in. Good thing I know how to hustle! In fact, that’s the way that most other PWD who attend these meetings get there.
My disclosure statements at the end of posts detail the support I’ve received. Sometimes I’m an invited speaker so that makes covering costs easy. In recent years, research projects I’m involved with, or ad boards I’m a member of, often run meetings alongside international conferences, so my travel and some accommodation are covered. I was informed early on by other advocates that there are often satellite events run by device and pharma companies, and I became very good at begging asking for an invitation, and then following that with more begging asking for help to cover accommodation and travel costs. I know that it doesn’t come easy for lots of people to ask for money, especially when most of the time the answer is going to be no, but I’ve developed tough skin in 20 years of advocacy, and can take rejection. It just propels me to the next ask! (For the record, HCPs also do this hustle to help cover their costs. It’s not just advocates!) Another thing that has helped is my growing conviction about how critical it is – and non-negotiable – that people with diabetes are at these meetings. #NothingAboutUsWithoutUs may have started as a whisper, but now it’s a roar that comes with an expectation that we must be there, and we must be supported to get there!
Pretty much every single time I have travelled overseas to one of these meetings, I am out of pocket. Some of the costs are always borne by me. I am fortunate to be able to cover those costs, but I am fully aware that it is one of the many reasons that advocates don’t pursue attending.
I get that there are myriad reasons that getting to these meetings is difficult. It can seem that there is no way in; there are costs to cover; time needs to be taken from work; it means leaving family; getting registration can be difficult for non-healthcare professionals. And for many, they simply have no idea how to actually make the first move to attend. It can seem daunting. I know that it can seem that it’s always the same people at these events, and I think that’s partly because once people have found out the process of getting in, they keep doing it, because they realise it’s not as daunting as they first thought!
And so, that’s why initiatives like #dedoc° voices are so magic. It is an opportunity for all PWD to apply for a scholarship which will offer an access-all-areas pass to professional diabetes meetings. Want more details about this great program from advocacy group #dedoc°? Try here and here. The pilot for this was at ATTD in Madrid, just before the world turned upside down. It was a brilliant showcase of just how an open application process works, breaking down barriers that prevent people from attending.
While the #dedoc° voices at ATTD in Madrid offered travel and accommodation costs, as well as registration to the conference, the other two times the initiative ran (ISPAD and EASD) were virtual events, so only registration was covered.
And that brings us to 2021, and the first global diabetes conference for the year, ATTD, which kicks off next month. Applications for #dedoc° voices is open to PWD from all around the world now, but closes on Friday. It’s been a super short timeframe for this event, but it won’t take you too long to apply. You’ll find all the details right here.
Run don’t walk, and apply now, for your change to not only get to ATTD, but also to meet diabetes advocates from across the globe. It’s your way in. What are you waiting for?

Disclosure
I am an advisor to the #dedoc° voices program. I do not receive any payment for this role.
Two years ago today, I was at Melbourne airport, getting ready to board a plane to get to Nijmegen, via Amsterdam, for the second AGM for the HypoRESOLVE project. I have been part of the Patient Advisory Committee (PAC) since the project’s start, and am honoured to be included amongst such a terrific and passionate group of people with type 1 and type 2 diabetes to lend the lived experience perspective to the work. (Disclosure statement at the end of today’s post.)
A project this big has a lot of moving parts and there is a constant stream of work being done. Right now, one of the most exciting things that we are seeing is a survey for people with diabetes to share their experiences of how hypos impact the quality of life of people with diabetes and our loved ones.
I love that this project is looking at more than simply the clinical side of hypoglycaemia. I’d like to think that the PAC has been influential in this, however one of the things that made me so keen to get involved in the project was that, from its inception, the psychological burden was an integral part of the research. Work package 6, led by Jane Speight and Frans Pouwer, aims to provide just what the impact of hypos are on the quality of life of PWD and our families. I know that in the presentations I’ve given for this project (including at the launch meeting in May 2018), my focus has certainly been on how hypos make me feel emotionally, rather than physically. (I’ll link to pieces I wrote about these presentations at the end of the post today.)
Right now, it’s time for more than just the PWD on the PAC to have a say – to have Your SAY – by taking part in this new survey. It takes about 30 mins, although I’m seeing heaps of people saying they’re whizzing through it much quicker than that. To complete the survey, you need to:
- be 16 years of over
- be able to complete the survey in English
- have type 1 diabetes, diagnosed over six months ago
- have type 2 diabetes, and use insulin
- live with and be in a relationship with someone with diabetes.
Click below to go to the survey, and to find out more information.
The more people who provide their experiences, the more rounded and richer the research will be. Throughout the project, the PAC has repeatedly advocated for the voices of as many PWD as possible to be included (this certainly isn’t the first time a group extending beyond PAC members has been consulted), so please, if you can, take the time to do the survey.
Hypos are a tricky beast; trying to get a really good picture about how they affect our quality of life is essential in developing treatments to make them more manageable.
More about HypoRESOLVE?
This post, explaining all about the project’s launch meeting.
This post about a talk I gave at a satellite meeting at EASD which addressed the differences between how PWD define hypos and the official categories.
This post, about the difficulties of defining hypoglycaemia in ways that are meaningful for everyone.
Here’s a little video that we recorded at the kick-off meeting.
And stay tuned for the podcast!
DISCLOSURE
I have been a member of the HypoRESOLVE PAC since the project started. Until the beginning of this year, PAC members were volunteers on the project, with all flights, accommodation, meals and expenses covered from the project budget. Since the beginning of 2021, PAC members have been paid an honorarium for time worked on the project. I have not been paid to write this post, and my words here have not been approved (or read) by anyone on the project before publication.
Is it this week’s full moon? Is Mercury in retrograde? (I actually don’t know what that means.) Is it the changing seasons?
I’m not sure the reason, but the last couple of weeks seems to have been especially busy when it comes to annoying people being annoyingly stigmatising on the Twitters.
It’s tiring calling it out. I sometimes do, I sometimes don’t have the mental bandwidth to get into it.
So, for those times that I can’t be bothered doing much, but want to do something, I now have this. And I’ll be sharing and posting and responding to stigmatising tweets with nothing more than a bright red and pink image.

This blog post is dedicated to Alex who has had to deal with some fucking unbelievable stigma today, and C and Mila who are regularly fabulous in the way they brilliantly call out stigma online.
Chances are, Australians with diabetes will know who Stanley Clarke is, especially those who have many years of diabetes under their belt. Pretty much every person with diabetes who checks their glucose levels is benefiting from his legacy.
If you don’t know who he is, or his story, and don’t get Circle, let me give you a little taste of this remarkable man and his contribution to diabetes as we know it today.
I was thrilled to read a beautiful profile of Stanley in this month’s edition of Circle magazine, the quarterly magazine from Diabetes Australia. (And by way of disclosure I am employed for Diabetes Australia, and I write an article for each edition of the mag.)

Stanley and his wife Audrey’s daughter Lisa was diagnosed with diabetes in 1972, aged 5 years. As was the norm at the time, she relied upon the only option for checking glucose levels at the time: using Benedict’s solution, drops of urine and colour charts to provide highly inaccurate and misleading results. That was as good as it got!
Stanley was an electronics engineer, and he knew that there had to be a better way. In fact, he’d seen the better way – machines that were available in hospitals that checked glucose in the blood. But these machines were large, and very expensive and not considered part of routine, daily, at home care for people with diabetes. Stanley set about to change that.
He worked to develop a smaller, portable, battery-operated blood glucose machine and in two weeks had a prototype that he was ready to show his daughter’s paediatric endocrinologist. The endocrinologist, diabetes legend, Martin Silink, was impressed and ordered 30 and then an additional 200 machines to be given to children at the hospital. Apparently, within six months, every child with diabetes at the hospital had a home glucose meter, and monitoring blood glucose levels was part of their routine, changing their diabetes management forever.
Clarke machines were ordered and sent to all corners of the globe as people with diabetes everywhere were keen to be able to access this new technology which improved outcomes and reduced diabetes burden.
The machines were sold for what it cost Stanley to make them. He wasn’t interested in making a profit – only in that the machines were available and accessible to people with diabetes.
I read the beautifully written tribute to Stanley in Circle, getting a bit teary at some of the beautiful stories of people who had benefited from this new technology. And my reading was also tinged with a sense of familiarity. I didn’t have diabetes when his home blood glucose meters became common, but I certainly did benefit from it.
Even more so, I have benefitted from the ingenuity of people directly affected by diabetes. The #WeAreNotWaiting movement is built on the shoulders of people like Stanley and it continues to push boundaries and seek solutions for diabetes problems that we know matter. We know they are problems because we live with the consequences of them every minute of every day. We celebrate when the solutions are presented to us because we know what a difference they will make.
I remember hearing Dana Lewis speak about her work that meant she could actually hear her CGM alarm at a volume that woke her up at night, and understanding why that was something so critical.
I remember hearing about Nightscout for the first time, and how one of the benefits of remote monitoring meant that parents felt more confident allowing their kids to have sleepovers at friends’ houses, and understood just why that made all the difference to kids with diabetes.
I remember hearing someone tell me all about using DIYAPS, and I understood not only why it was a vast improvement on commercial diabetes therapies, but it made me determined to build a system for myself. And how glad I am that I did!
I find it unbelievable, and more than a little tragic, that at the same time that there is this incredible user-led innovation happening, there is also pushback. The opposition takes many forms, but it seems to come back to the same thing, and that is the discomfort of many working in healthcare and their reluctance to trust what people directly affected by diabetes are capable of.
I wrote in this piece a few years ago about the predictable way that many HCPs recoil from new therapies. There are reasons thrown around for that: no money to fund it; no evidence to support it; safety concerns.
But money doesn’t seem to be the driving factor propelling the innovators forward (a nod to Simon Lewinson who has been providing re-batteried CGM transmitters to people in Australia meaning that for them, that therapy is actually affordable). Safety is always the primary concern for those of us using these technologies, and to suggest otherwise is an insult. And the evidence is there, perhaps just not in expensive RCTs, which need to stop being considered as the be all, end all.
Stanley Clarke changed the way that day-to-day diabetes was managed and so have others since then. And all I can think of is that we are so, so fortunate to have innovators like that whose only motivation it seems is to improve a life lived with diabetes. What a truly remarkable goal to have.
If I’m asked about the burden of diabetes stigma, a complex tree diagram starts to form in my head. There are branches sticking out at weird angles with arrows and overlapping segments and odd clusters…and I suddenly become burdened just thinking about diabetes burden!
I’ve written before many times about just how heavy diabetes can be – a dense weight that comes from the never-ending need to ‘do diabetes’ and the never-ending attempts to make sense of it all. And I’ve commented on the emotional weight that we feel when diabetes becomes overwhelming and distressing, and the burden of burnout. And I’ve also written a lot about the relentless stream of diabetes admin – and why having a personal assistant to manage my diabetes would be just so damn useful to alleviate the burden of appointment making, prescription filling, consumables stocktaking and complications screening
Burden takes on many forms. And it means different things to different people. If there is a burden spectrum, we would see people plotted all along the line. And we would move around as well. I know that there have been times I’ve feel far more burdened by diabetes, and I know that I feel so much less burdened since I’ve been using Loop because the tasks that added to that daily burden have diminished considerably. Diabetes makes a lot more sense a lot more of the time without me needing to work it out. Of course, the weight is less.
But on top of the daily tasks and the feelings of being overwhelmed, there is still more that can contribute to burden. One of those things is stigma – the way others make us feel about diabetes – about our diabetes – can add significant burden.
Yesterday, I tweeted this:
If you want to see an incredibly diverse and interesting discussion about how stigma has impacted people with diabetes, and parents of kids with diabetes, click on the tweet above and read the replies. I asked the same question on my Facebook page and the stories there were equally harrowing. People’s experiences are heartbreaking. It becomes clear why people drop out of healthcare, are terrified to see HCPs, or try to hide their diabetes from others when you understand how they have been treated.
The weight of that burden is heavy. The judgement and blame and shame can weigh us down. The emotional weight of stigma can be paralysing.
One of the themes that is recurring when it comes to stigma discussions is the idea that we are not doing enough to look after ourselves. That could be in reference to developing long-term complications, or it could be an in-the-moment situation that someone thinks we should be better prepared for. I remember someone once criticising me for not having any jellybeans on me when I was having a hypo. I’d had three hypos already that day, and had worked through my stash. I wasn’t wilfully neglecting my diabetes by being caught short. But that was the assumption.
Another theme is that diabetes is a character or personality flaw, brought on by not caring enough about out health. How tiring it is to have that being said when we are also trying to simply manage to live with diabetes. Weight stigma and diabetes stigma go hand in hand for many, with assumptions made left, right and centre.
Being diagnosed with diabetes creates burden. Living with diabetes brings daily burden. Worrying about how diabetes might impact our futures crafts more burden. And stigma adds even more. It’s exhausting, hurtful and just downright unnecessary.
More musings about diabetes and stigma
Stigma & diabetes-related complications.
Owning my own contributions to diabetes-related stigma in people with type 2 diabetes.
How insisting on defining diabetes when it doesn’t matter adds to stigma.










