You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Awareness’ category.
It’s day 1 of Diabetes Blog Week which means that this is a week where I will be getting little, if any sleep, as I trawl my way through hundreds of diabetes blogs from bloggers all over the world. Big thanks, as always, to the lovely Karen Graffeo (who I love today, but by the end of the week, in my sleep-deprived state, will be cursing for this initiative!) for coordinating the week and giving diabetes bloggers a chance to share their ideas and thoughts on such terrific topics.
Today’s prompt: Lets kick off the week by talking about why we are here, in the diabetes blog space. What is the most important diabetes awareness message to you? Why is that message important for you, and what are you trying to accomplish by sharing it on your blog?
I have now been writing a blog for over five years now. This is my 602nd post (apparently). That’s a lot of waffle about diabetes!
What’s important about diabetes awareness is not only different for each of us, but it also changes throughout time. I have had particular areas of interest at particular times, but there are certainly some issues and messages that have remained pretty consistent.
So here are a list (and links) of some of the most common messages that appear on Diabetogenic.
Use your words. Wisely. Language and diabetes is important. (And I am so excited that this is a topic for Diabetes Blog Week this year!) I have written A LOT about diabetes and language and most of those posts can be found here.
#Access4All. And that does mean for all.
Coffee and Nutella are food groups.
My DOC friends – the ones who keep me company at 3am while low, make me laugh at any time with a random tweet or message, or reach out when concerned – are the only reason that I am mostly balanced about diabetes. Without them – and their support – I don’t know where I would be. And the same goes for the IRL friends.
Put us in the room. People with diabetes have a place at all levels, at all diabetes conferences and at discussions with all stakeholders. Our seat is at the head of the table. Make sure we get the invitation!
Diabetes experitse is shared – but different. Except when it comes to MY diabetes. Then the expertise lies squarely with me.
Diabetes is not only about numbers. It is mostly about what is going on in my head.
These are the issues that are most important to me. It was once suggested by my boss that the only time I get off my high horse is to climb on my soap box – an accusation that was made in good faith and one that I wear fondly. We all have axes to grind, issues about which we are passionate. And we need that in this as we navigate the world of diabetes.
High horse to soapbox…
I have been closely watching how our US DOC friends are responding to the situation with United Healthcare insurance limiting the choice of insulin pumps to Medtronic devices only. They have effectively removed the ability for the person with diabetes to select the pump that best works for their diabetes management (at least without a flight through – what I imagine would be – a terribly arduous appeals process).
My knowledge of the US health system is rudimentary, but I do frequently read about how treatment choices are dictated by health insurers. This is absolutely shocking to me – the idea that my health insurer gets a say in what insulin I pump into my body, which strips I use to check my BGL or the device I use to administer insulin is terrifying.
While I am appalled at the insurer for their complete and utter lack of concern for the person living with diabetes, I am not really surprised. I have never felt that an insurer is on the side of the insured.
But I am very concerned at how Medtronic has behaved here, because despite any rhetoric, this is not the best outcome for, or in the best interest of, the person living with diabetes. For a company that has often shown they are genuinely interested in listening to the consumer, this flies in the face of any consumer-centric attitude and reeks of nothing more than greed.
The commentary from US DOC folks has been swift, consistent and damning, and I continue to read and learn with much interest as they eloquently and passionately plead the case for choice. I am, as I often am, inspired and motivated by the way the community comes together to fight the good fight.
But I am dismayed that there is a need for so much fighting. Living with diabetes is hard enough without having to battle red tape, bureaucracy and corporate hacks who are so out of touch with what living with a chronic condition is about.
And I also watch with fear, because I know that as much as we have freedom of choice in Australia (for now), we shouldn’t take it for granted. We know our insurers are always looking for ways to cut costs, increase profits and raise premiums.
We have already seen some insurers here take measures to make it harder to claim for a pump. There are stories of insurers insisting a higher level of cover for insulin pump rebates, instead of the basic hospital cover that was once the norm; longer qualifying periods have been introduced before a claim for a pump can be made; the number of years between upgrades are sneakily being increased in policies.
Whatever the change, it is clear the outcome for people with diabetes is that we are being screwed. We shouldn’t be too smug here in Australia as we watch from afar, because I fear it is just a matter of time before these sorts of measures are introduced here.
Here are some responses from the US DOC:
Kerri from Six Until Me (also. happy 11th blogaversary!)
Bennet from Your Diabetes May Vary
Kelly from Diabetesaliciousness
Round up from Diabetes Mine and this Storey
Marina from The Betes Organization
And finally, keep an eye on DPAC for update.
#AccessMatters
#MyPumpMyChoice
#PatientsOverProfits
Growing up, when I infrequently visited our family GP, he was always referred to by his first name. I do remember when we were really young putting a ‘Doctor’ before his first name, but we never referred to him by his surname. He was always ‘Dr Sam’ until he became just ‘Sam’.
Since being diagnosed with diabetes and becoming a frequent flyer of healthcare services, I have only ever addressed HCPs by their first name. (Except my endo who frequently gets referred to by her first and middle name together, but that is because my kid has the same middle name (named for my endo) so when speaking to and of each other, we use both names..)
When meeting a new HCP, I will walk into a first appointment, hand extended as we do our introductions. I always say, ‘Please call me Renza,’ although I don’t know that I have ever had a doctor not call me by my first name in the first instance. In fact, usually, when called in from the waiting room, they do so by using my first name.
So it’s probably not surprising that I found myself prickling a little as I read this article from a couple of months ago, written my an oncologist from the US. James Salwitz MD tells the story of a new patient – an elderly man who attended with his adult son. The son insisted on calling Dr Salwitz* by his first name which, apparently, was a little unnerving for the doctor. He referred to it as a cultural faux pas, suggesting that it was being done to… ‘diminsh the power and value of my experience, control and guidance.’
Now, I know it is possible that there are some cultural differences here. In Australia, we seem to have a far more relaxed attitude about being formal. And we also don’t necessarily consider that using someone’s first name shows a lack of respect as suggested by Dr Salwitz and some of the commenters at the end of the piece.
I asked a few people – also regular users of healthcare – and most said they used only first names. A few said they would always refer doctors by their titles, but nurses by their first names. This raises another point about the hierarchy of healthcare professionals. I’m not sure why one would be more inclined to use Dr Diabetes for the endo, but not Ms/Mr Diabetes for the nurse.
I treat and regard my healthcare team with nothing other than respect. I speak to them with respect, I respect their time and how busy they are, and I recognise their professional expertise. How I address them does not diminish this respect, nor undermine their qualification.
What was not clear in the article I read was how Dr Salwitz addressed the person he was treating (or his son). If there was an expectation from doctors that they are addressed by their professional title, then surely they should demonstrate the same courtesy (if that is what it is) and address their patients by their title and surname.
Any discomfort can be solved at the first greeting. This is one of the reasons the #HelloMyNameIs campaign is so important. Clear introductions from the beginning establish how people would prefer to be addressed. If unsure, the question ‘Is it okay for me to call you by your first name’ can be asked by both physician and consumer.
Feeling comfortable in our medical appointments is necessary if we are to get the most from the limited time we have before our HCPs. And for that to occur, there needs to be mutual respect and no imbalance of power. I feel very fortunate to have that with my team.
*Thought is best to refer to Dr Salwitz by his title throughout this post.
If you are part of the Diabetes Online Community, you probably would know that 20 April was the second annual #IWishPeopleKnewThatDiabetes Day. I wrote about the first event last year and you can read all about it here.
I am a little late writing about it, because truly – what more can I offer to the discussion? If you want to experience the power of the day, search on Twitter (or, to a lesser degree, Facebook or Instagram).
For me, there are two real benefits to #IWishPeopleKnewThatDiabetes. For people with diabetes, it is a chance to have many of our feelings and experiences validated. We see other people communicating the same successes and frustrations; the same victories and disappointments; we see humour in what is often a sea of doom and gloom, and we feel less alone and part of a tribe.
The other benefit is how #IWishPeopleKnewThatDiabetes has the ability to go beyond the DOC. People from outside ‘our world’ can catch incredible insight into all those aspects of diabetes they would never ever otherwise see if their only reference points were the six pm news or a tabloid story in a local newspaper. They would be able to see beyond the numbers – the statistics that are huge and incomprehensible – to the individual and the day-to-day impact.
I loved that there was such a strong focus on the issues of accessibility from people all over the globe. (Go Diabetes Kenya, by the way, for your awesome tweeting!)
It was terrific to see diabetes organisations getting into the mix and contributing to the day. Special shouts out to Diabetes UK, Diabetes Kenya (again), Diabetes Canada and American Diabetes Association for strong shows. And I was so proud to see Diabetes Australia (disclosure – I work for them, but none of the IWPKTD tweets were from me – kudos to Jenelle) and some of the local diabetes organisations including Diabetes NSW, Diabetes QLD, Diabetes WA and Diabetes TAS for getting involved and tweeting and retweeting throughout the day.
After days of these sorts of awareness days, I feel a little emotional. I have gone back and re-read some of the tweets and am struck by how similar – and how different – we feel about living with diabetes. My feelings run the gauntlet from anger and frustration through to hope and inspiration. Mostly though, I feel connected and supported.
#IWishPeopleKnewThatDiabetes doesn’t end today. There is a website and a blog, and you can sign up for updates. A huge thank you to Kelly Kunik (AKA Diabetesalicious) for coming up with idea and running with it. And a huge thank you to everyone for sharing your thoughts.
The world is bathed in purple today with the death of Prince. I have had this clip on repeat all day.
On this day in 1923, insulin became commercially available.
Fast forward 75 years to 1998, and on this day, I was given a shot of insulin as I sat in the offices of an endocrinologist. That morning, I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.
As I watched the doctor quickly and proficiently inject my arm, I had no idea just how precious, effective and dangerous this magic elixir could be. And I had no idea just how lucky I was.
I am not lucky because I have diabetes. Despite being one of those eternal (and annoying) glass-half-full types, I struggle to see the positives in being diagnosed with diabetes.
But I am lucky that if I have to have diabetes, it is here in Australia where I am afforded the luxury and ease of access. Getting insulin is as simple as asking a doctor for a prescription, calling the pharmacy to order it in and the next day picking up a couple of months’ supply for the grand cost of $40, after which I take it home, leave it in my refrigerator and use it as I need.
I have been doing this now for 18 years. My diabetes has come of age. It can drive, vote and drink (three things I should definitely not do if my glucose level is low.)
Diabetes is not a blessing. I don’t think I have ever hated something more and doubt I ever will. I despise the way it has intruded into my life and has eaten away at things I once took for granted. I detest that my loved ones have had to become experts, and are now fluent in the language of ‘diabetese’. I loathe the fear and terror that it has caused me at times.
On this day in 2016, I am thinking about having lived with diabetes for a significant part of my adult life. I am thinking of how it has shaped me, the times it has forced my hand, the way it has influenced the direction my life has taken. I see how it has made me think certain ways, re-evaluate aspects of my short- and long-term decision making and made me advocate for something in which I once had no knowledge (or interest).
But mostly, I am thinking about how I get to celebrate my diaversary as a day of success and triumph. And that many do not. My privilege is starkly obvious as I celebrate with a piece of cake, and, coincidentally, pick up a waiting insulin prescription from the pharmacy up the road.
So, today, I am making a donation to T1International to commemorate this day and those far less fortunate when it comes to living life with diabetes. If you have a spare few dollars – perhaps even just 18 of them – maybe you could, too.
I frequently refer to myself as ‘the difficult child’ – not so much in my family setting, because there I am clearly the perfect daughter (just ask my sister!). But professionally, I am sometimes difficult because I have been known to ask a lot of questions, think outside the square and am a risk taker.
And I would also be termed difficult in other settings.
For example, I am, according to this article, what would be considered a ‘difficult patient’, a term that I really struggle to understand.
Anna Reisman MD, an associate professor at Yale School of Medicine, wrote the article, sharing a recent conversation she had with some med students who asked ‘can’t these patients stop with all the questions?’ instead, wishing for patients who simply listened and did what they were told. They wished for ‘easy patients’ rather than ‘difficult’ ones.
Living with diabetes can be difficult. It doesn’t behave how we would like it to or how we expect it to. It makes us frustrated and angry and sad and annoyed. It makes us want to try different things as we hope to get better results and see in-range numbers. And sometimes – often – we are the ones searching, Googling, asking others and wanting for more and better and different treatments.
When I ask questions or walk into a HCPs office asking to try something new, I am not being difficult or questioning their expertise. I simply want a discussion about how I can improve my health.
The only reason I manage my diabetes the way I do is because I researched, asked questions and told my HCP it was what I wanted to do. I wasn’t being difficult when I first raised the idea of ditching MDI for a pump. Nor was I being difficult when I asked about CGM. Or when I wanted to change to a different insulin.
I was looking for ways to make my diabetes less difficult – because it is a difficult monster! It is not the person being difficult. It is the condition. And this clarification is important.
I think frequently the term ‘difficult’ is used instead of the word ‘empowered’ or assertive – neither of which are interchangeable with ‘difficult’.
In the article, Dr Reisman offered some excellent advice to the med students explaining why patients who do ask questions and want to take charge should be celebrated – not discouraged. And she ends the article with this pearl:
‘Don’t dread patients bearing questions, I told my students. Welcome them. They’re some of the best teachers you’ll encounter.’
I can’t think of a better way to explain it!
I read a few other pieces by Dr Anna Reisman and this is another brilliant take on the expertise of patients.
Always difficult. I mean assertive.
This Thursday is World Health Day and the spotlight for 2016 is being shone on diabetes. In the next few days, we can expect to see diabetes mentioned in the media a lot. There will be numbers describing the size of the ‘epidemic’, there will be scary pictures and there will be threats about what will happen if we don’t all act NOW.
Much of what is written will be by journalists who do not have an in depth knowledge of diabetes, so the chance of them getting it wrong – or, at least, not finessing the details – is pretty high.
What upsets me most is when people with diabetes are not represented particularly accurately. I don’t like the pity party often thrown for us – especially because once we get there, the only food served is sugar free. And carrot not in the form of cake.
Seeing myself referred to as a ‘sufferer’ or ‘victim’ infuriates me, and the assumptions and the blame and stigma associated with a diabetes diagnosis makes me even madder.
Those of us living with diabetes (or with someone with diabetes) understand just how much language matters when talking about diabetes.
There are tools available that can point journalists in the right direction when speaking about and to people with diabetes – and the issue of diabetes.
The terrific Team Novo Nordisk has made real strides with providing the media outlets covering the team with some practical tips and a ‘Guide to Communicating About Diabetes.’
And, of course, the Diabetes Australia Language Position Statement* is also a valuable resource that offers suggestions of language and words that motivate and empower people living with diabetes, highlighting how negative and inaccurate language can be harmful and discouraging.
The fact that World Health Day is focusing on diabetes is a good thing in my mind, because it means that people are talking about diabetes. And if we can, in some small way, shape the dialogue – or at least, shape the language being used when speaking about diabetes – the outcome may be a better representation of life with diabetes. We can bust myths, set the record straight and explain how paralysing diabetes-related stigma can be.
This is not only about defining the different types of diabetes, although there are times in the dialogue that would be helpful. It is about offering a fair, precise and considerate picture. And it is about remembering that even when talking about huge, scary numbers that clearly define the issue, there are people involved who are living with diabetes every single day, doing the best we can with the cards we’ve been dealt.
So, with this in mind, I am making a slight pre-emptive strike and asking that anyone writing about diabetes does so in an accurate and respectful way. I will be tweeting throughout the week using the hashtag #LanguageMatters and, when I see examples of writing that is neither accurate nor respectful, will be tweeting the journalist and source directly. I won’t be aggressive; I won’t be angry. But I will call them out.
If it’s something you are interested in, please get on board. Let us tell the real story of diabetes OUR way. #LanguageMatters 
*I work for Diabetes Australia, however at the time this position statement was developed, I worked for Diabetes Victoria. During the writing of this statement, I provided some comment (from a consumer perspective) to the ACBRD team who composed the position statement. The ACBRD is a collaboration between Diabetes Victoria and Deakin University.
Despite what the media may say every time they herald the ‘end to painful injections’, it has never been the needles, the pump insertions, the finger-pricks or the sensor insertions that cause the most discomfort when it comes to living with diabetes.
They are not even where I feel diabetes most.
I feel it in my heart with an increased heartbeat when I feel the fear of ‘what could be.’
I feel it in my eyes as I see the evidence of diabetes on my body with devices, healing and healed scars, tape residue and a pump hidden in my underwear.
I feel it on my skin with the goose bumps I get when hearing the words ‘me, too’ from someone who understands what living with diabetes is truly about.
I feel it through my veins as I sense blood being pumped faster to alert me to a low.
I feel it in my smile when I see – and feel – the power of support and connectedness.
I feel it in my tears as they roll down my cheeks with the frustration of never seeming to be able to get it right.
I feel it in my fingers as I load insulin into a cartridge, feel for knots in an infusion line or grope around in my bag for my kit.
I feel it in the dark recesses of my mind when I consider the scary things that only get an airing when my defences are down.
I feel it in the pit of my stomach as the guilt that inevitably comes to the surface. Guilt about the burden I am on my family and friends.
I feel it on my lips as the tingling of a low or the dryness of a high remind me that I must attend to my blood sugar.
I feel it in my hip pocket as I fork out more money for more strips, for more pump consumables, for more sensors, for more insulin, for more health insurance, for more medical costs. Because there is always more.
I feel it in my words, as I struggle to articulate exactly how I feel, what I need, what I want.
I feel it my nose as the smell of insulin hits and automatically the words ‘It’s the smell that keeps you alive’ jump into my head.
I feel it in my mouth – the sickly sweet aftertaste of the jelly beans or the pineapple juice I have consumed when I just want to sleep.
I feel it in my ears as I hear the click of a lancet device, the beep of an alarm, the ticking of insulin being delivered.
I feel it in my feet as I walk barefoot to the kitchen and there is the sensation of a rogue BGL strip on the floorboards.
I feel it underneath me when I sleep and I roll onto a pump or lie over my sensor.
I feel it. It is everywhere.
I speak and write about language a lot.
I will continue to do so, because I truly believe that the words that engulf us when we speak or hear about diabetes have a direct impact on how we feel about our condition. The emotion cannot be removed from it and negative or judgemental, stigmatising or blaming words make us feel…well….negative, judged, stigmatised and blamed.
I frequently point my finger at healthcare professionals for their use of judgemental language and the media for their use of poorly researched facts and sloppy language. And I note lazy jokes where my health condition is considered a punch line.
You may have read it here or heard it when I have given a talk (it will probably get an airing tomorrow!). And if you follow me on Twitter, it is highly likely you will have seen me tweet the link to the Diabetes Australia Language Position Statement to someone who hasn’t quite got it right.
But I have never ever been able to put into words how I feel about the language that some of our loved ones – or caregivers – use when speaking about diabetes and how it can – completely unintentionally – be damaging.
My dad – love him to pieces – sees my diabetes as an illness. He thinks that I am sick. I have spoken with him over and over about why that is not the way I see my diabetes and that I am actually incredibly healthy, and he absolutely means to harm when he uses the words he does. But they do affect me.
I sat in a meeting while low – managing perfectly well, but having explained the reason I was munching on glucose tabs – and my manager at the time asked if I needed a nurse. He was concerned, but I realised he also didn’t trust my ability to look after myself when I am more than capable – something I had demonstrated to him over and over again.
I am not the parent of a child with diabetes, so I don’t get to play in that space and comment. But I do have real concerns at times. I worry about the language that is used around kids and the way that the child’s diabetes is being represented.
So that is why when I woke this morning and read this piece over at A Sweet Life from Moira McCarthy Stanford, my words stopped. I couldn’t even think straight for a moment because every single thing she wrote resonated so strongly. I actually burst into tears. (I was low, so there was that too. But honestly, I just couldn’t believe how clearly and articulately she put into words my thoughts.)
Moira’s blog post should be required reading for anyone around someone with diabetes. She nails it. Perfectly. I urge you to read it. I urge you to share it. If you are part of a family support group, send it to all members of the group and discuss is amongst yourselves. You don’t need to agree with it all, but it is definitely worth having a robust and honest discussion about it.
If you are a parent (my parent!), I hope that you understand why these phrases and words have the potential to be damaging.
At no time would I ever dismiss the difficulty of having a loved one with diabetes. I can’t imagine what it takes to watch us living with it and not really be able to do something. I would never underestimate your role.
But sometimes, the words you use underestimate ours. Moira – thank you for not doing that.
My in-laws gave me a beautiful cherry tree for my birthday last year. We planted it in the middle of our garden so we could see it whenever we are in the back part of our house. A couple of weeks ago, after a particularly brutal day of blistering heat and blustery winds, all the leaves were torn from its spindly branches.
I looked out the kitchen window and saw it standing there completely naked and thought that I had killed it.
Today, it is covered with new growth and is looking gorgeous. I didn’t kill it. It just needed a little time to recover from the nasty weather and some space to regrow.
It’s autumn here, so the colours are starting to turn and as I drive home down a stunning tree-lined boulevard, golden leaves trickle down onto my car. I want to jump out and stand in the middle of the road and twirl in the leaves, which would be dangerous given that there are trams and bikes and cars. But it is so lovely.
I love watching the seasons change. I love that the red-golden-brown of autumn is just hitting here as the spring starts to hit my friends in the northern hemisphere. Friends in the UK are posting photos of daffodils and US friends are showing photos of sprouting gardens, devoid of snow. And I looked at our fireplace the other day, thinking that it wouldn’t be long before it would be crackling each evening.
We’re already over half way through March and I am pretty sure that the year will be over before I know it. And there is so much going on in the world of diabetes all the time, all over the place.
Dexcom app
Earlier this week, my US friends were all abuzz with the excitement of the updated Dexcom G5 App which, amongst other things, displayed BGL data directly to their Apple Watches, rather than the push notifications that we currently get.
I hungrily searched to find if the update had been – or was about to be – launched here in Australia, but unfortunately, it hasn’t as yet.
I am not sure when it will be here. I am not sure if it will be here. But I am bloody frustrated that it is not here now – especially considering I bought my Apple Watch in June last year for this exact purpose.
Diabetes, infertility and pregnancy loss
Kerri Sparling is a dear friend of mine and I was so pleased when she made public her exciting news last week. I couldn’t be happier for this darling girl and her family.
She bravely wrote about the infertility she had been dealing with for a couple of years and the miscarriage she experienced in the middle of 2015. I say brave because pregnancy loss and infertility is still something that is shrouded in stigma and shame. And it shouldn’t be.
When I miscarried for the first time, before the kidlet was in our life, I told no one. I was so ashamed and felt hopeless. But I decided after my second miscarriage that I would talk about it. In some cases, people were quite uncomfortable with the candour and honesty I shared. But for the most part, women were glad I had opened up and they shared with me their stories, too.
While I was certainly doing it to help with my own healing, I was also doing it because I didn’t want others to feel the same isolation and shame that I had felt.
Thanks Kerri for using your considerable reach to bring light to this issue. Infertility is terribly difficult to manage. Diabetes makes it even more so.
Diabetic Living Magazine
Check it out – I’m in there!!
Patterns
I have a love of patterns. Stripes, of course, will be my first love and rarely a day goes by when I am not wearing stripes of some sort somewhere on my body.
But I have also developed a love of many other patterns, including anything with a nautical theme, spots and gingham.
And today, I am rocking a new argyle patterned patch around my new sensor. Rockadex is an Aussie company started by a mum whose child has type 1 and offers a great selection of patches to help keep CGM sensors holding on.
Megan from Rockadex kindly reached out, offering to send me some samples of her product, but I’m a big believer in supporting small business, so I declined. And purchased some for myself. My order arrived within a couple of business days and a pile of gorgeously coloured patches tumbled from the envelope when I tore it open. Today, I’m rocking an argyle patch. Details about the product and how to order can be found here.
Rocking my Rockadex patch.
Huge world
We hear all the time that social media makes the world feel very small and how we are connected with people from around the globe at our fingertips. I say it all the time. I believe it.
Except when I don’t. This week, I am really feeling the distance between my friends in the northern hemisphere. Despite tweets and Facebook posts and even a video message, I really wish I could sit down and have a cuppa with them right now. It’s a long time until June – the next time I will be visiting the US – and even longer until September when I will be in Europe. Sometimes, distance does really suck.
For no particular reason, I wish I could feel the embrace of those friends across oceans – literally not just virtually – for a bit. I feel like I need those stores built up at the moment.
Living Well
I’m returning to my old stomping ground on Saturday, presenting at Diabetes Victoria’s first Living Well event for 2016. The event is focusing on going back to basics and there are two separate streams – one for people with type 1 diabetes and one for people with type 2 diabetes. Read all about it over at the Diabetes Victoria blog. And come along and say hi – I’m speaking on a panel in the type 1 diabetes stream!
Beautiful writing
The lovely Annie Coops always writes so, so beautifully over at her blog and this story about her diabetes diagnosis is stunning.
And more
There was an interesting piece in the New York Times over the weekend from Allison Bond, an internal medicine physician at Massachusetts General Hospital. She wrote, most eloquently, about reading patients’ obituaries gives a lot of perspective to treating doctors. There is much to love and quote from her short blog, but this particular thought caught my attention – and my breath in my throat:
‘So when patients do pass away, their obituaries are a gentle reminder that behind the illness lies a story and a unique human being. This is something that is easy to forget, but vital to remember.’
If only it didn’t take death for healthcare professionals to remember that.
Diabetogenic 