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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.
I have never understood why people shy away from the word ‘feminist’. It is one that I have always worn as a badge of honour and one that most of the women around me are not afraid to use. Sometimes, we have roared about it, and other times we haven’t. But it always seems to be a guiding principle in the way we live.
I’ve always loved this Dale Spender’s quote (one that Senator Penny Wong quoted last night on Q&A in her eloquent explanation of why she calls herself a feminist) because it shuts down any ridiculous comments about feminism being something to fear, or ‘against men’, which is a load of bollocks.
I am not sure if the women around me I admire and love and respect would call themselves feminists, but I certainly see them that way. They raise each other up, celebrating successes, commiserating losses, rejoicing in each others happiness.
When I think about the people who have impacted most on my life since diabetes, they are just about all women. Today, my HCP team is exclusively made up of women and I have been seeing all of them for well over ten years. It took me a while to find the right people for what I needed and it just turned out that the ones who were most compatible were all female.
The people I turn to when I am confused or angry or struggling with diabetes are mostly women.
When I was dealing with the devastating aftermath of miscarriage or the exciting and exhausting exhilaration of new motherhood, the people I wanted to talk to were other women with diabetes who understood the extra demands that diabetes threw into the mix. These were the women who provided comfort and love and a (virtual) shoulder to cry on. And the call of ‘You can do this’ resonated strongly through them all.
I am raising a daughter and one of the things for which I am forever grateful is that around her – and me – at all times are women of great strength, intelligence, compassion, bravery, brilliance and talent.
She sees that every single day in my mother, my mother-in-law, my sister, my sister-in-law, an extended family of assorted aunts and cousins, and my circle of friends who are nothing short of genius.
She sees it in many of her own friends’ mothers who speak to their daughters the way I speak to mine, and she, along with many of her own friends are already demonstrating that kickass attitude that some hasten to shut down by calling them bossy and pushy. When really, they are showing they have the skill and courage to lead.
And she is starting to search out her own hero girls and women, admiring and quoting Malala Yousafzai, shouting about girl power, reading books with strong female protagonists and demonstrating utter shock, indignation and disgust to think that girls are not at all times considered equal.
And she sees me. While I may not be the strongest, brightest, most compassionate, most courageous or most brilliant of the women around her, I do set an example of resilience and kindness. And we use diabetes as an incredibly effective teaching tool to show her just how lucky we are, and how she shouldn’t ever take for granted the privileged life into which she was born.
She knows that diabetes around the world is not a level playing field. And, more broadly, neither is women’s health, whether maternal, sexual or reproductive. Where a baby is born impacts significantly on their health outcomes. As does gender.
It’s International Women’s Day today. While I am using the day to acknowledge amazing women – those who have come before, are here now, and are our future – I am also using it to remind myself that there is still so much for us to do. The gender gap is not closed – not by a long shot. We need feminism, we need activism and we need days like today to remember what still needs to be done before women around the world are truly considered equal.
Women Deliver is a global advocate for women’s health, rights and wellbeing and promotes the importance in investing in girls’ and women’s health. Take a look at see some of their great work, which includes the infographic above.
Last night, after a lovely dinner with a couple of diabetes mates, I rushed home to watch Insight on SBS. The topic was type 2 diabetes and diet, specifically, a very calorie-restrictive diet being promoted by Dr Michael Mosley.
I was particularly interested because the CEO of Diabetes Australia (my boss) was one of the guests on the show.
I don’t really want to write about the diet being presented on the show. I am not a healthcare professional and have no qualifications in dietetics, so I am not going to remark on the ins and outs of the diet being discussed or the claims that it ‘reverses’ type 2 diabetes.
What I am going to comment on is the Twitter commentary that accompanied the show. You can go back and have a read at #InsightSBS and see that some of the armchair discussion was pretty well-balanced, (special kudos to Warrnambool DNE, Ann Morris for her balanced tweets), but unfortunately, a lot of it wasn’t.
A couple of very well-known celebrity trainers* were tweeting along to the show. (*When I say ‘well-known’, I knew of one of them – Michelle Bridges – but had to be told who the other one was. I’d never heard of Commando Steve before last night. Apparently he is Michelle Bridges partner, so I like to think they were sitting together on the couch, tweeting and judging people. Birds of a feather…!)
On the program were a number of people either living with type 2 diabetes or who had been identified at risk of developing diabetes. So, so much credit to these people for going on a national television program to speak about living with a condition that so many know so little about.
I listened to their stories and heard how they were living with a complex and confusing chronic condition. I heard about how some had made changes that they felt they could manage, and others who clearly had so much else going on, that they simply were unable to make the recommended changes that may have positively impacted on their health.
Diabetes Australia CEO, Professor Greg Johnson (again – my boss, so consider the bias when reading this) said the following: ‘We don’t want to put people in positions of failure. Already they are in positions of failure in diabetes.’
And this is where the celebrity trainers jumped in. Firstly, this from Michelle Bridges:
And then this from Commando Steve (who I assume has a proper name?):
Their complete and utter lack of understanding of living with a chronic health condition shouldn’t astound me. Who really knows unless you are living it every day?
But surely they could show a little empathy, or acknowledge how tough dealing with a lifelong condition might me.
I would like them to suggest how we remove the ‘emotion’ from diabetes. It permeates every single facet of life some days, so tell me how we cast aside any feelings or emotion?
Commando Steve tweeted that ‘people will come up with all the excuses in the world not to take responsibility for their own health’ which does nothing other than lay blame, stigmatise and judge.
The simplistic approach offered by people like Bridges and Commando Steve will never address the real issues of diabetes. In fact, all they do is add to the stigma, which is one of the reasons that so many living with diabetes find it difficult to make changes. Way to go, guys. Your lack of ‘insight’ is shocking.
‘You’ll be pleased to know that I represented people with diabetes very well in the meeting that I attended yesterday.’
The meeting was all about people with diabetes; making decisions about people with diabetes; looking at processes and practices for people with diabetes; discussing how people with diabetes access healthcare.
And in the room? Not a single person with diabetes.
I looked at the healthcare professional who told me that she had so well represented ‘my people’ and shook my head.
‘And yet,’ I said. ‘You are not a person with diabetes. Can you imagine how much more powerful it would have been to actually have people affected by the things being discussed in the room?’
I was reminded of this conversation, which took place a few months ago, this morning when I saw this from the folks at T1 International. (I’ve written about them before, but please check them out. Their work is so important.)
T1 International is working towards adequate access to insulin and diabetes supplies, as well as healthcare for all people across the world living with type 1 diabetes. They are giving a voice to communities that are most often not heard by sharing their experiences and amplifying their stories.
But I wonder, what hope can there be for people in countries where diabetes is so tough if in places like Australia, where we have heavily subsidised medication and supplies (I know, I know – CGM is not subsidised), we are still not being given the microphone?
I never doubt the amazing advocacy initiatives that many healthcare professionals undertake for people with diabetes. It is important and necessary and I am so grateful for it.
However, there is an authenticity that can only be delivered by those walking the miles in our (diabetes-appropriate – pfft!) shoes; not those walking alongside us.
Bringing home the point again was this cartoon that has appeared frequently on my SoMe feeds this week.
Copyright – SocialMediaPearls
Let us in the room. Don’t speak for us. We have voices. Hand us a microphone so we can be heard.
Diabetogenic 