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Last night, I had the honour of speaking at the World Health Organisation Informal Consultation on Diabetes, which is currently taking place as a virtual event. It’s a three night/three day (depending on where you are in the world) event that has brought together people living with diabetes from all corners of the world.
This was a widely advertised event, and anyone could apply. The expression of interest call out was all over Twitter, Facebook and diabetes community groups. Unlike some other initiatives and programs, PWD didn’t need to be nominated by a diabetes organisation or HCP to be part of it. You just needed to fill out the application form (which didn’t take too long), and submit. Clearly a lot of people with diabetes saw it and thought it was something they wanted to be involved in! I’m not sure of the overall numbers, but there is certainly terrific representation from a number of communities.
On my Zoom screen I could see a combination of familiar faces, faces of people I know of but have never met or engaged with, and a whole lot of new faces. Hearing their stories, and reading the discussions that are filling up the chat box are enlightening. And reassuring. Because once again I was struck by how strong, vulnerable, admirable and strong-willed others treading the diabetes path can be. There are striking similarities and glaring differences. But common threads that run through the narratives we heard And mostly? There is support and gratitude to be there and to bear witness to others sharing their stories, ask questions and learn. Not a single snipy comment or passive aggressive remark – not because we all agree or are a homogenous group. But rather because we respect and value and admire the people who have the courage to stand up and be present.
I was invited to speak in a session about diabetes advocacy. The session’s title was ‘Strategic communication in global diabetes advocacy’, and it included Christel Marchand Arpigliano from Beyond Type 1 and Lauren Carters-White, a research fellow from the University of Edinburgh. Christel spoke about how when we tell our diabetes stories, we are translating the language PWD use – language that makes sense to us – into words that reach a broader audience.
Lauren used some terrific examples from around the world to show the impact data and evidence can have in advocacy efforts.
And I rounded out the session by talking about how when we bring the two together, we win the hearts and minds of the people we are trying to influence – decision makers, legislators, policy makers, educators, healthcare professionals and researchers. Because when we have the emotional pull of how diabetes impacts on daily life, combined with the evidence to show what that means, we can’t be ignored! I highlighted how working with healthcare professionals and researchers to further our messages means that our lived experience can’t be dismissed.
I also spoke about how the power of stories is magnified when there are many voices and many different narratives. I have rarely, if ever, heard someone share their diabetes with the pronouncement that they speak for all with diabetes, or that their story is THE story. But they are all experts in their own lived experience and that certainly should be celebrated. And its power should not be underestimated.
I think the thing I have felt most strongly in that Zoom room is the camaraderie and solidarity – again, not because we are all on the same page and all want the same things. But rather, everyone truly supporting each other and bringing others into the conversation has been an overarching quality of the meeting. No one dominates; no one is more important than anyone else; no one claims to be THE advocate. We are all advocates working together, and supporting each other for a bigger cause.
Of course, we want, and expect, to see action come from the three days of meetings and workshops, and I have confidence that will happen. But in the meantime, to have such large group of dynamic people come together whose only agenda is community and to build each other up, rather than tear each other down, reminds me that THIS is what diabetes advocates can do and what the community is mostly about. Those snippy voices who try to minimise people who are truly trying to improve outcomes for people with diabetes aren’t present. Because what a waste of time that would be!
I may have spoken about, and given tips about how to win others’ hearts and minds in my talk, but it’s my own heart and my own mind that have been won over by my peers in this event.
(You can follow along the discussion by using the hashtag: #WHOPLWDs)
Disclosures
None. I am not being paid to attend this event, and have not received payment, honoraria or in kind donations for my presentation, and am attending in my own time. I might need a nap later today though, because the 11pm-3.30am time for Aussies on the east coast is tough going!
Apparently, diabetes blogs are dead. At least, that’s the proclamation that seems to made every month or so. You should very much consider my bias when I say that I don’t agree with that sentiment at all. I mean, I have a shitload of content on this here site – including new and re-visited posts that for me have some relevance to my diabetes life in the moment.
Newer and shinier platforms are here now, so surely that means it’s time to retire WordPress and Blogger. Or is it? Newer and shinier platforms are great, so I’m not here to claim that that they’re a waste of time. Podcasts and vlogs are great tools for sharing diabetes information. YouTube and Reddit are great places to learn. And then there is Tik Tok, but I am too old to be allowed to even log into that platform. (Not true, and I have loved some of what’s been shared there. It can be a brilliant storytelling and info-sharing format!)
I’m here to say that every single platform for sharing a diabetes tale has its place. And blogs are still very relevant: the long-form post is not dead. Not yet anyway.
It is from blogs that I learnt, and continue to learn from others with diabetes. I revisit old posts I’ve read because they remain relevant today, and have many bookmarked and saved because the information shared is so spot on! I use them as research for pieces I’m writing and presentations I’m giving. I send links to old (and new) blog posts to others with diabetes when they ask questions that I know someone has answered so beautifully. And I send posts to HCPs to give them an insight into real life diabetes that they may otherwise have not understood – a glimpse into the things we are hesitant to share with them – and how our interactions with them can leave a lasting impression: both good and bad.
Blogs are also where we hear from those who are adjacent to actually living with diabetes. Reading posts from parents of kids with diabetes and partners of loved ones gives me a perspective that I simply don’t have firsthand.
Advocacy and awareness efforts have been described and fought through blog posts. I’ve used this blog to advocate increased funding for products, research and healthcare. It helps get the message out to people, with simple calls to action so they can get involved too. And the first time I ever heard about Spare a Rose was via this post (the links in the post are not current), and from there so many in the diabetes blogosphere – myself included – jumped on the bandwagon to support this important campaign. We knew that while donating was important, getting the word out was critical too. Since 2013, dozens and dozens of posts have been shared, raising awareness about how this ‘by the community, for the community’ grassroots initiative.
Blogs are where some of those deep and scary issues that we only whisper about or hide away are discussed. It was in blog posts that I first read about just how diabetes impacts on mental health. Experiences about diabetes-related eating disorders were shared without judgement and shame. It was through my writing about infertility and diabetes that I connected with so many other people going through the same thing.
Diabetes blog posts – old and new – are a patchwork quilt of lived experience gold, with the common thread that no one’s diabetes story is more valuable or important, but that everyone has a story to share that is worthwhile.
Some believe that blogs posts are just a way for people to ramble and navel gaze and seek attention. Well to them, I say please enjoy (or don’t) exhibit A – the 1100+ posts here that may be navel gazing to some, but paint a picture of my 22 years of diabetes. It’s not everyone’s experience; it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. And I’m okay with that! If you don’t like the blog format, move on. No one is forcing anyone to read a blog post. Or to get on any other format for that matter. Because, of course, your preferred diabetes info mode may vary (#YPDIMMV).
Someone said to me that reading new blog posts these days is boring because there is nothing new – it’s already been said. And you know what? That could well be true. Diabetes is boring and even though everyone’s diabetes is different, many of us write about similar situations. But actually, that’’s okay. Because for some people, it may be the first time they see or read a post about a particular topic – even if there are five million others! – or perhaps there is a different outlook in there.
I think that people write for different reasons. I write for a creative outlet and writing provides me with a way to explore different ideas about not only my own diabetes, but the diabetes landscape. But mostly, I write to connect with others. I don’t think anything I have to say is particularly erudite or mind blowing. I don’t have any revelations that will help someone else’s diabetes make sense. My own diabetes makes no sense to me, so the chance of it making sense to someone else is very unlikely.
I found most diabetes blogs because their writer shared them on Twitter or on Facebook. Or, others in the community shared them, which is one of the truly wonderful things about the DOC – the way some people elevate others in the community. There used to be an annual event called #DBlogWeek which was a brilliant opportunity to learn about others writing about diabetes. Diabetes Mine’s monthly blogosphere wrap up keeps me updated with some wonderful pieces. (And for German speakers, here you can find a curated collection of blog posts by Bastian from deDOC : I run posts through Google translate to understand them.)
And so, here are some of the brilliant pieces written by PWD I’ve read in recent times. I hope that you enjoy them too.
Corinna Cornejo writes at Type 2 Musings, and is also a contributor to the Ascensia Editorial Board (disclosure: I am too and am paid for my contributions). This great piece about power imbalance in the clinic room.
One of my favourite Aussie bloggers, Frank Sita, wrote this insightful piece about taking a pump break over the festive season:
Diabetes and pregnancy and baby blogs have always been a favourite of mine. I cannot tell you how many I read back when I was at that stage of my life! New mamma Ashley has shared this gorgeous post while (literally) awaiting the arrival of her baby girl.
I loved Dave Sowerby’s 2020 look back in this post.
Kerri Sparling may have retired her blog a couple of years ago, but I was so grateful for this new post on September last year while Melbourne was in the depths of lockdown. I’m sharing it here for others who are locked down at the moment. (And Kerri’s fourteen years of posts are still available at SixUntilMe.com)
Tim Street’s blogs are not for the faint hearted! They are often super technical, but non-techies (my hand is raised) will definitely get a heap out of them. His latest blog post from just a couple of days ago has me thinking about what I need to do to jiggle my basal rates a bit.
I haven’t watched the video that accompanies this blog post from Jen Grieves, but the words expressing how she is feeling in the midst of lockdown resonated so beautifully.
Holly Allen’s post from the end of 2020 about imposter syndrome hit a little too close to for comfort! It’s a recurring theme from some diabetes advocates (and my hand is raised for this one too!)
This from Molly at Hugging the Cactus had me aching as I read it. I miss my diabetes mates so hard and mourn all the opportunities we’ve missed to catch up.
And finally, I’ve not been able to stop thinking about this piece from Cherise Shockley that she wrote for diaTribe recently, and the idea of a carb glass ceiling. I realise that I have a very similar way of thinking when it comes to counting carbs and I love how she has explored the psychology behind why people may think this way.
Diabetes Awareness Month has come to a close and with it the blue that has washed over my social media feeds will dim a little. I had a quiet month, spending most of my time following others rather than sharing my own content. It seems to have been representative of my year in diabetes advocacy, really.
I’ve been quiet. It wasn’t planned, but it has been deliberate. And it hasn’t gone unnoticed. I’ve started and stopped and started and stopped this post for a while to answer the messages from people who have so kindly asked if I am okay. Let’s see if this is the one that sticks…
Earlier this year, I wrote about having a panic attack while on a plane after landing back in Melbourne from ATTD in Madrid. You can sort of read about it here, although I was pretty vague about what actually happened saying little more than that I turned on my phone to a million Twitter notifications about a blog post that some people had assumed was written about me and then subsequent comments. I was surprised, horrified and more than a little confused.
This came hot on the heels of a couple of other tricky situations. There was the run in with the diabetes HCP who told me to tone down (after they completely misrepresented what I had written about). And then there was another HCP rallying troops to call me out (that caused me to lock my twitter for the first time ever at the end of last year).
Anyway…the culmination of all these things resulted in the realisation that this year was going to be a lot different for me. I was going to take a massive step back from much of the work I did that was public facing. I felt that I simply couldn’t take the scrutiny that was coming my way.
Even before the panic attack on the plane incident, I was feeling unsettled. I was unspeakably nervous about the presentation I had been invited to give at the conference in Madrid. This was a completely alien feeling to me. I have been speaking publicly for decades, and for twenty years, comfortably stood on stage playing the flute for anyone who would listen. Standing in front of an audience doesn’t make me nervous. It doesn’t make me sweaty and scared. And yet, here I was wondering whether I should not go to Madrid at all to stand up on that stage. But after some ridiculous bravado as seen in this post, I decided that I had to go.
As I sat on that plane, desperately trying to recover from the panic attack that was making it difficult for me to breathe and hiding my tears from the other passengers, I had a fleeting thought that I probably should have gone with my gut feeling and stayed home!
And so, I felt that there was only one thing I could do. Forget the whole stand up thing and instead step back. I wasn’t necessarily sure what that would look like. I couldn’t stop attending and being part of diabetes meetings and conferences because that is part of my job, but I could turn down speaking engagements or anything that put me in a position where I was sharing my personal, lived experience that others might find challenging, or at odds with their own. I needed to deal with the diabetes burnout that was so, so heavy and weighing me down.
COVID-19 certainly helped with that. As the world got turned upside down, a lot of the things that I was worried about simply didn’t happen. It became easier for me to limit my interactions with people and hide away a bit more.
The feelings of burnout and anxiety about being part of the community didn’t disappear, but they seemed less urgent.
And with that came the realisation that the burnout I was feeling because of diabetes actually was not because of my diabetes at all.
Diabetes burnout has always happened to me when those constant diabetes tasks became too overwhelming; when just the thought of opening up a meter bag, or checking my CGM trace was too much to even contemplate. Burnout meant that every single number became a measure of my value and worth. I’d lose all perspective and lose all confidence of my abilities to actually do what I needed to do.
The burnout I felt now was the effort of being a diabetes advocate IN the diabetes community. It was fearing that I was being seen in ways that actually were completely inaccurate – in fact at complete odds with everything I have ever stood for – and that led me to second guess everything I said, fearing that I would be misunderstood. It was feeling vulnerable and scared and exposed in the community that was meant to support me.
I received an email from someone in the DOC who has been around for many years, and I have known (on Twitter only) who told me that because I am confident in my communication, am comfortable challenging ideas different to mine and share opinions that not everyone agrees with it, I leave myself open to criticism. And that criticism and the dialogue that follows resulted in their corner of the diabetes community being less enjoyable to him and others. All while suggesting that, unlike he, who has never deliberately set out to disagree with anyone – I seem to revel in it.
Interesting take. I don’t seek to disagree with people. But if anyone is saying something that I believe is stigmatising to PWD or minimising our experiences, I will call it out. It’s been my MO for almost twenty years.
I never replied to the person who sent me that email. I cried about it for days, however, and have it filed away and occasionally return to the half-written response that I keep meaning to finish so I can hit send on my reply. I feel it’s quite impolite that I’ve not replied to someone who took the time to write to me… But, truthfully, I am too tired, and that so-called confidence has abandoned me.
Diabetogenic is the least active it’s been since I started it close to ten years ago. That’s not because I have nothing more to write – I still write every single day, I just squirrel things away now, too afraid to share them, sticking to safer topics – research call outs, fundraising initiatives, commenting on things that aren’t controversial or taboo topics.
I started this blog because it was the space for me connect with others – not only people who were walking the same diabetes path as me, but also those who were doing things very differently. Because often, they are the people I learn most from.
It became a place I could write about those issues that were tough – the mental health challenges of diabetes, the frustrations and desperation I felt about the health system, trying to navigate through health professionals who refused to acknowledge that PWD belong everywhere and anywhere diabetes is spoken about. And it was a place that my split-apart heart was able to open up and share the unspeakable sadness that I felt as fertility issues became part of my life. I am so grateful that I was able to do that and receive the support that I so desperately needed from people who understood how the impact of diabetes on those fragile, and so, so hard parts of life shattered me into a million broken pieces. Because it was those people who helped glue me back together.
Wanting and needing that support and connection hasn’t stopped. I still seek it. I’m just a little more cautious about how I go about it these days sticking with friends and others I feel safe with rather than the wider community that doesn’t feel safe. I know where to go to get what I need.
I don’t really know what to do with this blog anymore. Feeling unable to share a lot of what I want to say is alien to me. But for now, this doesn’t seem to be the place to do it. I guess I continue as I have been – hitting publish when I feel I can, and for the next month, anyone popping by will see a lot of pleas to donate to Insulin for Life.
And I guess that will have to be enough for now.
Over the weekend, an embargoed press release arrived in my inbox with a few different pieces of research that would be presented in coming days at EASD.
Being registered as press for diabetes conferences means getting an advance peek into some of the big stories that are likely to generate a lot of interest and discussion. This email offered three or four pieces of research, but it was the first one listed in the subject heading that made me catch my breath and hesitate on the button to read the email beyond the header,
Shorter. Life. Expectancy.
The three words ran through my mind over and over before I steeled myself enough to open the email and read the release, then the abstract and finally the full article. As confronting as the email header was, there was nothing in there that I didn’t expect, and nothing really that surprised me. It’s not new news. I remember being told early into my diagnosis that I could expect to live 15 years less because of diabetes; something I casually announced to my sister one night when we were out for dinner. Through tears, she made me promise to never say that again, and I just hope she’s not reading this right now.
But even though there was nothing in there that made me feel especially concerned, I did bristle at the conclusion of the article, in particular this:
‘Linking poor glycaemic control to expected mortality … may incentivise … people with diabetes and poor control to increase their efforts to achieve targets.’
I’m ignoring the language here, because even more problematic than the specific words in here is the sentiment which I read as ‘scare people and threaten them with early death to try harder’. Unsurprisingly, I find that horrendous. Equally horrendous is the assumption that people are not already trying as hard as they possibly can. It’s not possible to increase efforts if someone is already putting in the maximum.
Over the last twenty-two years, my diabetes management has sat at pretty much every single data point along the ‘glycaemic control’ spectrum, from A1Cs in the 4s and 5s all the way up to the mid-teens. There is no way that being told that I was going to die earlier would have made me pull up my socks to do better. In fact, it’s likely that if anyone had, at any point (but especially when I was sitting way above target), told me that I was sending myself to an early grave, all that would have done was send me further into the depressive burnout hole I was already cowering in.
It’s tough going knowing that the health condition that I’m doing everything in my power to manage as best as I possibly can is going to contribute to cutting my life short; that despite those efforts, I am likely to see fewer years of my daughter’s life and be outlived by most of my friends. Placing any of the blame for that on me for that makes me feel even worse.
I’m not here to argue with the article – it was an analysis of an audit of data out of England. I’m not here to say that this sort of information shouldn’t be shared, because of course it should be. Understanding outcomes, what drives them, interventions that can help and any other factor that provides better results for people with diabetes is a brilliant thing. These sorts of results could be used to highlight when and how to intensify and prioritise treatment options.
I do, however, question the way that the information will be used. Also, from the article:
‘Communication of life years lost from now to patients at the time of consultation with healthcare professionals and through messages publicised by advocacy groups … and … national/international patient facing organisations will be of great help in terms of disseminations of the conclusions of this study.’
I would be really dismayed if I saw any diabetes organisation using this information in a comms campaign, as I fear it could add concern and trauma to people living with diabetes. I worry about how it could be interpreted by well-meaning loved ones to say, ‘If you don’t start looking after yourself, you’re going to die,’ or something similar.
For the record, one of the other studies highlighted in the email was about hot baths and diabetes. The lowdown on that is having regular hot baths may improve cardiovascular risk factors in people with type 2 diabetes. I’m going to do an n=1 study to see if that also helps people with diabetes.
When people have asked me how I am feeling throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, they will usually receive a reply that varies from ‘All good’, to ‘Pushing through’, to ‘It’s been a tough week’, and everything in between.
What they won’t hear is how I have been feeling alongside these things. I have felt expendable.
It started early on with the first reports of the new virus that we knew nothing about. ‘It only affects people who are older and those who already have a health condition.’
In one of the first posts I wrote about how I was feeling as we entered this new world, I wrote these words ‘…the other day, I found that I was fighting back tears as, yet again, some politician somewhere promised that people who were diagnosed with the virus would most likely be okay – as long as they were not old or chronically ill.’
That was on 13 March. It’s now 11 September. For the last six months, I have continued to fight back tears and deal with lumps in my throat because one of the few constants through all of this is the lack of care and compassion directed at people who are older and those of us living with health conditions It’s a rather laissez-faire attitude: let’s not worry because we are all going to die anyway.
Being made to feel that I don’t matter is grinding. The accompanying stories from places with over-stressed medical departments, which show the people who this was ‘only’ meant to affect are being denied treatment because care and hospital beds are being prioritised for younger, ‘healthier’ people, are heartbreaking (and I’m sure impossible for the HCPs who have to make these decisions).
Add to that the bullshit reporting, manipulating data (and the truth) to suggests that many people who have had their deaths attributed to COVID-19 didn’t actually die FROM the virus, but rather WITH it, as if that makes it all okay and we are all just minutes away from dropping dead anyway, so who cares. It’s fun watching a discussion about how, if I was to get COVID and die, it would be the fault of the condition that I have worked so fucking hard to manage so that I can be healthy and contribute to the world around me, rendering that effort a waste of time.
It is a lot. It feels heavy. It feels that I don’t matter. But I do, don’t I? My friends with diabetes do too, don’t they? My parents and others’ parents and grandparents, and friends and family and colleagues who are older matter, don’t they?
Feeling expendable is a terrible way to feel, but it has been nestled in a corner of me for over six months now. That’s a really long time to feel pretty crappy and I honestly think it’s time to be better about the underlying messages when talking about COVID-19. I really want to stop feeling this way, so please, think about what you are saying when you mention people like me.
For more information (all Australian sites):
This blog has been quiet for the last couple of weeks because, honestly, there is nothing that I had to say that was of any value. Instead, I’ve been listening, learning, talking with friends and family, crying with friends, having difficult conversations with people. And feeling uncomfortable. I’m learning to not fight that discomfort, but instead examine it and work out how I can be involved in change.
Today, I’m dipping a toe back in slowly, and sharing this from New Yorker Cartoons (maybe this blog really is going to become nothing more than an appreciation page of New Yorker Cartoons and Effin’ Birds). This cartoon spoke to me. Because: tone policing.
Recent New Yorker Cartoon by Jason Adam Katzenstein. (Click for source)
I write about being tone policed in the healthcare space, and that is what I am writing about today. It’s happened for as long as I’ve spoken up about my experiences of diabetes and my thoughts and ideas about healthcare. I’ve been called aggressive so many times by HCPs who have not liked it when a mere ‘patient’ has suggested that they are being damaging to people with diabetes in the words they are using to talk to and about us.
The bolshie nuns who taught me at secondary school taught me that when women are accused of being aggressive (or strident), it is usually because we are being assertive. I’ve come to learn that it’s not just women. It’s anyone who has, for too long, been expected to just take what is dished up – and to accept it with gratitude.
Being assertive, being aggressive, being challenging and saying enough is enough should not result in being told to tone down. Or to be excluded from discussions unless we agree to be more moderate. Or more respectful. When that respect is truly a two-way street, then let’s talk about that. But for as long as power imbalances are at play, and HCPs insist on speaking on behalf of us, or only agreeing to speak with us if they like what we are going to say; or when HPCs feature more in diabetes campaigns because they insist on centring themselves rather than actual people living with the condition…well, then we don’t have true two-way respect.
Our diabetes community is not immune from tone policing each other. It’s happened to me. I continue to listen to type 2 diabetes voices because I can never expect to understand what they are experiencing in our community unless they tell me. It may be uncomfortable for me to hear – but that discomfort comes from a place of my complicity. It is not my place to tell them to moderate the way they are speaking about their experiences, just because it makes me feel prickly. But it does happen. In the timeline of my involvement in the diabetes world, I know that when I was first diagnosed, I contributed to the stigma many people with type 2 talk about, and then, as I learnt more, I moved to being quiet about it when I saw and heard it – even though I disagreed with it. Now I am trying to be a better ally and calling it out when I see it. And shutting up and listening and accepting what people with type 2 say.
We learn when we listen. We learn when we are open to accepting that we do not have all the answers. We learn when we stop being so centred on our own experience and try to turn the spotlight onto ourselves when instead we should be shining it on others.
We learn when we don’t tell people how they should feel or how they should speak.
By the weekend, after last Friday’s post expressing the terror I felt reading headlines regarding death rates, diabetes and COVID-19, I’d moved from scared and sad to angry. Diabetes reports in the media are always fraught, and this was no exception.
I took to Twitter, because it’s as good a place as any to scream into the void and lighten my chest from what was weighing heavily on it. You can read that thread here. Or you can just keep reading this post. I wrote about the processes that I have been involved in for getting a story about research from the lab/researcher’s desk out into the general sphere.
So today, I am going to address a number of different stakeholder groups with some ideas for your consideration.
To communication and media teams writing media releases about diabetes research:
I know that you want your story in the press. Many of you have KPIs to meet, and measures of success are how frequently you get a headline in a well-known publication. I know that you often are the ones trying to make dry numbers and statistics compelling enough to get the attention of health writers and journalists.
But please, please don’t tell half stories. Don’t only present the scary stuff without an explanation of how/what that means. And when you provide explanatory information in the hope that the journo you’re pitching to will pick up your story and run, don’t revert to lazy, over-simplistic explanations that have the potential to stigmatise people with diabetes.
To health writers and journalists:
You have a tough job. I get that. Pages need to be filled, angles found and content that will grab the attention of a news-hungry public must be written. But remember, if you are writing about diabetes, it is highly likely that a lot of people reading what you write are people affected by diabetes. Your words are personal to us. When you talk about ‘diabetics dying’, we see ourselves or our loved ones. Please write with sympathy and consideration. Don’t use language that stigmatises. Don’t use words that make the people you are writing about feel hopeless or expendable. Don’t forget that we are real people and we are scared. Are your words going to scare us more?
To anyone asked to comment from an ‘expert’ perspective. (I am not referring to PWD asked to comment from a lived-experience perspective here, because no one gets to tell you how to talk about how you are feeling. Tone policing PWD is never okay, especially when it comes to having a chance to explain how your emotional wellbeing is going…)
Thank you for trying to break down what it is that is being discussed into a way that makes sense to the masses. If you are asked to be the expert quoted in a media release, ask to see drafts and the final version of the release before it goes out. Consider how your words can be used in an article. It’s unlikely that you will be called for clarification of what you have said, or to elaborate, so be clear, concise, non-stigmatising and factual. Also, and I say this delicately, this isn’t about you. You are providing commentary from a professional perspective on a news story about the people who this IS about . The fallout may be tough, and the topic may be contentious, people may not like what you say, but when that becomes a focus, the story shifts away from the people who really matter here. I am begging you to not do that.
I am frequently asked to provide comment for media releases, sometimes as a spokesperson for the organisation where I work, other times from a lived experience perspective. I always insist on seeing the final draft of the release. And yes, this has been my practise since I was burnt with a quote I’d approved being used out of context and painting my response in a different light to how it was intended. I also insist on seeing the words that will be used to describe me. For me personally, that means no use of the words such as suffered, diabetic, victim, but as PWD we can choose those words to suit ourselves.
I am also more than happy to be the bolshy advocate who clearly lays out my expectations about overall language used. I send out language position statements. I know that comms, media and writers don’t always appreciate this, but I don’t really care. It’s my health condition they are writing about, and the readers will not be as nuanced about those affected with diabetes. If they see something, they take it at face value. I want that value to be accurate and non-judgemental!
And finally, a point on language (because, of course I am going here). Many pieces that have been written in the last week have dehumanised diabetes, and people with diabetes.
Words such as fatalities, patients, sufferers, diabetics, ‘the dead’ have all been used to describe the same thing: people with diabetes who have lost their lives. Break that down even further and more simplistically to this: PEOPLE. People who had friends and family and colleagues and pets. People who had lives and loves and who meant something to others and to themselves.
I refuse to reduce the #LanguageMatters movement to the diabetic/person with diabetes debate, but here…here I think it is actually critical. Because perhaps if ‘people with diabetes’ was used by the media (as language position statements around the world suggest), it might be a little more difficult to divorce from the idea that those numbers, those data, those stats being written about are actually about PEOPLE! (Of course, PWD – call yourself whatever you want. Because: your diabetes, your rules and #LanguageMatters to us in different ways.)
People. That’s the starting, middle and end point here. Every single person with diabetes deserves to be written and spoken about in a way that is respectful. Those who have lost their lives to this terrible virus shouldn’t be reduced to numbers. Data and statistics are important in helping us understand what is going on and how to shape our response, but not at the expense of the people…
Diabetogenic 