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We watched the movie Looking for Alibrandi with the kidlet the other night. I remember when the book came out. I’d left school, was in first year at Uni, and still trying to work out who the hell I was. My mum, sister and I all read the book and couldn’t stop talking about it.
That book was one of the most important things I read when I was younger, because it resonated so much. The idea of not understanding where I belonged had shaped a lot of my adolescence, and was continuing to confuse me as a young adult. I know I wasn’t the only one feeling like that – many kids of post-war migrants felt the same way. Not that we really spoke about it, which was why Looking for Alibrandi was so important. It put into words the jumbled thoughts in my head.
My parents moved from Italy to Australia in the late 1940s (my dad) and early 1950s (my mum). They both grew up here – all their schooling was in Australian schools. They speak English perfectly without a hint of an Italian accent.
We didn’t speak Italian at home, and weren’t particularly involved in the Melbourne Italian Community. Most of my parents’ friends were not Italian, and I only had very, very few Italian friends. At secondary school, there were a number of Italian girls whose families would have been similar to mine, and yet they weren’t the girls I hung out with.
I wasn’t really sure where I fit. I didn’t belong with the Italian girls, because their parents were all a lot stricter than my kinda strict parents; they all spoke fluent Italian – often to each other – and were more involved in the Italian community. Equally, I didn’t really feel that I belonged with my ‘Aussie’ friends because they totally didn’t get the overprotective Italian father thing I had going on at home. Or my love of Fiats. (Or that we had Nutella in the cupboard at home!)
I was in this kind of middle ground that left me wondering where I belonged. And it is a position in which I find myself again today in the diabetes world.
I am a person with diabetes. But for the last 15 years (so, for all but 3 of my diabetes life) I have worked for a diabetes organisation. It leaves me in a unique position that brings great opportunities and privilege, but also makes me feel like a complete outsider at times.
HCPs are confused by me and sometimes suspicious of my vocal advocacy on engagement and the power of peer support; others with diabetes are sometimes wary because they wonder just how free I am to be open and honest about my diabetes; within diabetes organisations I am seen as someone who has fingers in many, many pies; global advocates are curious about how I manage to write this blog while still being in paid employment with a diabetes organisation. To avoid confusion (frequently my own), I speak differently depending on the audiences I stand before, and adapt my tone and language and stories slightly to suit HCPs, PWDs, industry reps or government people.
But essentially the stories are all the same and it is my voice telling the stories.
Next week, I’ll be in Munich at the European Association for the Science of Diabetes (EASD) Annual meeting. The EASD conference is an interesting one. It is very ‘rats and mice-y’ – the term I use for conferences where I look confused in most of the sessions because I have pretty much no idea what is being said, however understand enough to know that someone, somewhere has managed to cure diabetes. In mice.
Despite it’s very science-focused content which attracts very science-focused folk, I feel very ‘right’ at this particular conference, because there is a wonderful advocate, blogger and consumer satellite program that means the city is full of ‘my people’. And that is why I am there – for those events.
If I feel as though I don’t belong at EASD, it’s because I am the only Australian advocate there. I have travelled the furthest distance, I am jet lagged for most of the time and people have trouble understanding my accent. But the Italian contingent at the advocate events claim me as one of their own (albeit one of their own who doesn’t speak the language), so at least I feel that I fit somewhere.
So at least for next week, I’ll know my place. And it will be alongside some of the most dynamic, clever, passionate and dedicated people I know. My people. They will teach me a lot as I learn what they’ve all been up to since we last met and I’ll clumsily share what’s been going on here in Australia. That’s where you will find me.
(And you’ll also find me sitting down the back of science-y sessions looking confused. And wishing I was a mouse.)

So many things on my radar at the moment. Here is just a taste!
Gila Monster and diabetes
Over the weekend, federal health minister, Sussan Ley announced the drug Bydureon would be listed on the PBS from 1 September 2016. Bydureon is a once-weekly injection used in conjunction with oral medications for people with type 2 diabetes.
Fun fact: Bydureon is the brand name for exenatide, which is a synthetic form of a substance found in the saliva of a lizard – the Gila Monster. (Please can we talk about how someone worked out that this would be a good treatment for diabetes?)
News from ACBRD
The team from the Australian Centre for Behavioural Research in Diabetes don’t sleep. At least, I am pretty sure they don’t. My office is on the same floor as them and I can tell you that I’ve never seen any of them asleep at their desk. Instead, they work really hard and produce things like these:
Centre Foundation Director, Professor Jane Speight, is straight talking at the best of times, and her commissioned article published on Monday in the Medical Journal of Australia pulls no punches in putting forward a strong case highlighting the need for behavioural innovation in the treatment of type 2 diabetes.
Dr Jessica Browne from the Centre has been leading work on diabetes and stigma, and this piece published recently in Diabetes Care is about the development of the Type 2 Diabetes Stigma Assessment Scale.
Over-achievers the lot of them. And how grateful I am! (If any of you are reading this, stop it now and get back to work!)
AADE / DSMA / diaTribe / Language
I cannot even begin to express how excited I was last week to see so much focus on and discussion about diabetes and language at last week’s American Association of Diabetes Educators conference.
I sat in my office in Melbourne last Friday morning in tears as on the other side of the world in San Diego (where it was Thursday evening) Cherise Shockley directed a tweet chat about language and diabetes. (And a huge thanks to Cherise for reaching out before the chat!)
In this piece from diaTribe, Kelly Close also wrote about language. Check out this BRILLIANT ‘Diabetes: Starting the Conversation’ infographic. I love this SO much!!

Rachel Soong – Diabetes Infographic @DiaTriibeNews
Molly’s blog
I am always on the lookout for diabetes blogs to read and share and this one is just brilliant! Molly Schreiber’s blog, And Then You’re at Jax, is about living with not only type 1 diabetes, but also rheumatoid arthritis. (Another one of us who collects autoimmune conditions…)
For beautiful, sensitive and honest writing, this is where it’s at! Check it out here.
ADS ADEA next week
Next week is the Australian Diabetes Society – Australian Diabetes Educators Association Annual Scientific Meeting on the Gold Coast. Program is live here.
I’ll be writing and tweeting from there for a couple of days next week. Keep an eye out on the #adsadea2016 hashtag to follow along!
New resources for young people from the NDSS
There is little more satisfying that seeing the end result of something that has taken a lot of effort, time and expertise. I am thrilled to show off these beautiful resources that have been produced out of the NDSS Young People with Diabetes Program that I manage as part of my day job.

They look beautiful (the graphic designer is an absolute gem!) but even more importantly, they are full of important and useful information
An online version of Mastering Diabetes can be found here.
And an online version of Moving On Up can be found here.
More about the inclusiveness of the DOC…
My post about the DOC from earlier in the week has generated a lot of really interesting and valuable comment, both on this blog, on Twitter and Facebook and with many messages sent to me privately. Thanks to everyone who has contributed and, mostly, thanks to everyone for being so positive and respectful in their comments.
The purpose for writing was to try to encourage a discussion about how and why some people feel more included than others. I know this is not the first time this has come up and I doubt it will be the last.
I have noticed some common themes in how people feel and am trying to write something about that, but keep feeling clumsy and inarticulate. I’ll keep trying and see if I can make sense of anything – mostly in my head!
Banjos, banjos, banjos
Last week I went to two concerts at the stunning Melbourne Recital Centre. Both showcased banjo players and both were brilliant. One of the concerts was TWO banjo players and nothing more. I don’t know who I am anymore…
But I can’t stop listening to this at work.

The Melbourne Recital Centre stage ready for Punch Brothers.
She called me because someone had told her to get in touch. ‘Speak with Renza. She gets it.’ Is what she was told. She we organised a time to meet and over coffee we talked. And she searched my face for reassurance as she told me how scared she was feeling.
When I meet someone who has recently been diagnosed with diabetes, I say very little. I listen. I ask questions and gently try to find out what is going on in their head. I don’t say much about my own diabetes, because I don’t want to imprint my experience in their mind. Everyone feels different at the time of diagnosis and working out exactly what they are feeling needs some time.
I listen and sit there quietly and try to reassure and be positive. I nod a lot, and let them talk and vent and, if they need to, cry. Usually people cry. And I let them know it is okay. I did all of this with the woman who called me. She did cry and she did vent. And then she cried some more. And I said hardly anything.
But this is what I wanted to say:
- It is okay to feel scared and uncertain. Or angry. Or completely and utterly ambivalent.
- Because, you see, there is no right way to feel right now – or ever – about living with diabetes. And equally, there is no wrong way to feel.
- You don’t have to work this all out this week. Or next week. Or next year. In fact, you never have to work it out.
- But do work out what you can manage today and do that. And whatever it is, it’s enough. It. Is. Enough. And well done you for doing it!
- Find your tribe. In fact, this is what I want you to know more than anything. Others who are also ‘doing diabetes’ will help you make sense of this new world. You have to be ready to do that, but do be open to the idea. I wish that someone had introduced me to others with diabetes when I was first diagnosed. It took me over three years to meet another PWD and I felt so alone in those three years.
- And when you do meet people, don’t think that anyone has this diabetes thing worked out completely. Even those who say they do…
- …because, there is always more to learn, which is daunting and exciting in equal measure.
- I promise you – whatever you are feeling, whatever you are thinking, someone has had that same feeling and same thought. You are not alone. (Reading diabetes blogs will prove that to you!)
- Diabetes may feel like it is about to take over your life and it probably will for a little bit. And there may be times that it does again. But it will not define you for the rest of your life or determine who you are. It can be as much or as little of your identity as you choose to let it.
- You will be okay. You will be okay. You will be okay. (And, yes, I am saying that for your benefit as much as my own!)
- There will not be a cure in the next five years. Or even ten. I am not saying that to be pessimistic, I just want you to understand that hope is really important in living with diabetes. But unrealistic expectations that won’t come true are not going to give you that hope; they will destroy it.
- Ask questions. All of them! You may not like the answer (i.e. see previous dot point), but ask anyway. You will be amazed at the things you learn.
- Your diabetes; your rules. This will become more and more apparent the longer you live with diabetes. You don’t need to explain, apologise or justify anything you do to manage your diabetes. Ever.
- Anyone who makes you feel crap about your diabetes – whether it be the fact you have diabetes, or how you are living with it – needs to fuck off. (And if you can’t tell them that, find someone in your tribe who can! I am happy to be that person. Truly! I have the mouth of a trucker and I’m not afraid to use it.)
- Do not watch Steel Magnolias. Ever.
- Right now, this probably seems like it is the worst thing that will ever happen to you. This may sound odd, but actually, I hope it is. Because I know you can get through it.
- You will laugh again. And smile and feel light. You will not think about diabetes for every minute of the rest of your life. It will be there, but it does not have to rule your very being. It certainly doesn’t rule mine. You will learn where to place it in your world, and that is where it will sit.
- You do not need to feel grateful that you have been diagnosed with diabetes and not something else. Because it does suck. It’s good to remember that and say it every now and then. Or shout it out. While drunk.
- Go buy a new handbag. Trust me! If you want, I can help you to justify it as needing a new bag to cart around all your diabetes crap, but just do it for yourself. And while you’re at it, a new pair of shoes. Just because!
- Call me. Anytime. If you want. Only if you want. And even if it just to hear me tell you that you will be okay.
But I didn’t say those things. I only said this: You will be okay. I know this to be true because you are strong and resilient and capable. I know this to be true because many others have walked this path and worked out how to make it okay for them. You will do that too. It will be okay for you.
And I hope that was enough. Or, at least, enough to start with.






























