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One evening this week I made pizza scima, a flatbread from Abruzzo.

Baking bread became a pandemic hobby for me. I love it, but the process takes time. Time to knead and time to rise. Time to punch down before the second rise. It’s a slow and calming practice that I have learned to appreciate. Baking bread became abeautiful way to mark the hours of a lockdown afternoon and I delighted in stopping in between work calls to take a peek under the cloth that was covering the dough, as it was snuggled – and getting ever more snuggly – in a bowl by the heater (in winter) or sunny window (in warmer weather). The oven would heat up the kitchen and as we sat down to dinner, a golden, crunchy loaf would emerge, ready to accompany whatever was being served up.
But days are returning to somewhat (new) normal here and there is less time. No lockdown means a different pace during the day, because I now inevitably rush out during lunch hours to run errands or stop off for a quick visit to the fruit and veg market before work gets started. Or I’m slowly venturing back into the office for a day here or there. All this means that those minutes that lent themselves to slow food activities now run into each other again: time is not as leisurely as it was, and suddenly it’s dinner time without time to make a loaf of bread.
But on this day, I wanted bread; fresh, homemade, just out of the oven, bread.
And so, I made pizza scima! It’s a five-minute process where all the ingredients: 00 flour, olive oil, salt, bicarb soda and white wine get tossed into a bowl, mixed together and then flattened on a tray. The dough is scored, and the oven does the rest. No kneading, no proofing, no resting, no rising.
Half an hour later, a stunning crispy on the outside, chewy on the inside flatbread emerged and honestly, it is the best bread hack there is to know. (Plus, the recipe calls for only a little wine in the dough meaning you have something to drink with dinner!) Viva gl’Abruzzesi!
There’s nothing like adding a sneaky little shortcut to your repertoire – whatever that may be. I think that often people with diabetes become super smart at finding these sorts of little techniques that become a snappy solution to a diabetes problem.
Yesterday, I learnt a new diabetes hack thanks to Kelly Kunik, DOC old-timer who writes at Diabetesaliciousness. Here is what she shared via a collaboration with Ascenisa*:
This reminded me of one of the topics for Diabetes Blog Week. For newer folks to the DOC, DBlogWeek was an initiative of Karen Graffeo who used to write at Bitter~Sweet Diabetes (seriously, check out all these people and their blogs). Each year, Karen would coordinate this monster effort, coming up with different writing prompts and then setting up a platform for them to all be collated in one space.
Back in 2014, one of the topics was diabetes hacks and ninety-five diabetes bloggers all wrote posts sharing tips and tricks they have discovered that goes towards making their diabetes a little easier. Here’s what I wrote. I’m so pleased to find that all the other contributions are still all together on this link, and I’ve just spent a delightful hour scrolling through and re-reading some of them, getting a refresher on some super ideas from super people!
Call them hacks, call it inspired improvisation, but MacGyvering the fuck out of diabetes is a talent worth cultivating, because you never know when a diabetes moment will call for it.
DISCLAIMER
I am on the Editorial Board for Ascensia Diabetes. I am paid for the pieces I write that appear on their blog. Kelly is also on the Ed Board. Sharing this for no other reason than it blew my mind!
Last year, at the IDF Congress, after a full and busy day of talks and sessions, there was a night of fun with a group of diabetes mates at a Korean BBQ restaurant. As we sat around the fiery pit, we were talking about some tricky things with diabetes and what helps and what doesn’t when we’re having one of those days.
Wielding a pair of tongs and other cooking implements as I pretended to have superior BBQ skills (I don’t), I explained to the table my cup of tea theory, how it is exactly what I need on one of those crappy diabetes days, and how my husband has absolutely mastered it.
‘I don’t need anyone to help, or try to fix the situation – especially as often the situation cannot be fixed. I want someone to tell me that diabetes sucks and then bring me a cup of tea.’ Two of the men sitting opposite me had a complete and utter Venus/Mars look on their faces. ‘A cup of tea? What’s that going to do?’
‘It’s not meant to ‘do’ anything,’ I said, flipping over some steak, and trying to not burn myself or others sitting near me. ‘Because he can’t ‘do’ anything about my diabetes being there or what is pissing me off. It just makes me feel less stressed out.’
‘Okay – well, if I ever see you on the side of the highway with a flat tyre on your car, I won’t stop and help. I’ll make sure to drive on past, find a café and come back with a cup of tea for you,’ one of them said with a cheeky smile.
‘That would be lovely,’ I told them. ‘By the time you got back, I’d have changed the tyre over and be ready to drive off, so tea would be great. Bring some wipes too to clean my hands. BUT, that’s not what I am talking about anyway, and you know that!’
This isn’t about not wanting help and thinking I can do everything by myself. Or that I need to be some sort of superhero, (because there are no superheroes in diabetes). It’s that most of the time there is no way to make things better or actually fix things.
I hate to be gendered, but in my personal experiences, it is men around me that quickly jump in to offer suggestions and offer solutions. I understand why. My dad struggles with the idea that I’m doing things tough and doesn’t like to not be able to help. He doesn’t really believe that sometimes the act of just being there provides me with bucketloads of support and reassurance. When I was first diagnosed, Aaron wanted to stop or fix the crappy moments because he didn’t want me to have to experience them. While I always appreciated people wanting to ease the distress, frustration and annoyance of diabetes, I also knew that their ideas and suggestions were something that I’d either already tried, or thought of and knew wouldn’t work.
And sometimes, the truth about diabetes is that there is just no fixing the situation. Instead, it’s a matter of riding it out.
These days, when I’m going through those shitty diabetes moments (or hours, or days or weeks, or 2020s…), Aaron is likely to gently set down a freshly brewed cup of black tea and a biscuit, accompanied with a back rub and the proclamation ‘Diabetes sucks’. And for me, that is worth more than troubleshooting or trying to work out why diabetes is behaving particularly nastily right now.
I talk about this often to loved ones of people with diabetes. Obviously, this is my experience and what works for me, but it is also mixed with plenty of tales from friends who speak about how when low they don’t want someone asking them how they got that way, of if high why they forgot to bolus. They don’t want someone suggesting they call their diabetes HCP or try something different or eat a different diet. They would rather notdiscuss diabetes right then.
I know that burnout happens for those around diabetes as well as those of us living it. It’s different and it impacts people in distinctive ways. But I suspect that some of that burnout may come from the constant desire to make the crappy diabetes stuff stop or not happen in the first place, even though that is not really a likely outcome. Perhaps one way to address that loved one burnout is to step back for a moment and not try to swoop in and repair what has gone wrong, or what is upsetting us, but instead to let us know that you are there for us in whatever way we need. And sure, for some people that may be going through a checklist of what happened during the day and talking through, step by step, how to make it different next time.
But for me? It’s a cup of tea and a shared understanding of the complete and utter suckiness that often accompanies diabetes. It may not seem like much; it may not seem to solve anything, really. But it gives me time to breathe and not have to talk or think about diabetes, or feel as though I have done something wrong. A cup of tea. (And maybe don’t forget the Tim Tam…)
This post is dedicated to my friend Amin who I am missing terribly, even though he teased me mercilessly in that Korean BBQ restaurant about my cup of tea theory. But I do want to thank him for the many virtual cups of tea he has sent me this year when I’ve really needed one.


















