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Last Friday, I took part in my first Facebook Live chat as part of The Lowdown campaign. (If you’ve not watched the Facebook live chat, you still can by clicking here.) I was joined by former AFL footballer, Jack Fitzpatrick, who has lived with type 1 diabetes for about six years.
Jack and I could not be more different. He speaks a language of sport of which I know barely one or two words. His perspective of the first few years of his life with diabetes are very, very different to mine. He talks about how, thanks to his workplace – and AFL football club – he had a doctor and dietitian working with him every day. He worked out how to fit diabetes into his job with the help of HCPs that most of us see a few times a year at the most.
But there are also similarities. We were both diagnosed as young adults and we had to learn how to manage a very demanding health condition at a time when there is far more fun to be had. On Friday, we spoke about hypos, and his stories made complete and utter sense to me.
The Lowdown campaign is a beautiful story telling initiative. That’s what has happened over the last week – PWD told their stories about hypos and time and time and time again, there were comments from other PWD who recognised that story. We recognised the way our heart might beat faster, or the confusion that heralds plummeting glucose levels. We nodded as we heard about people over-treating, because in the moment, that is all we feel we can, and must, do. We smiled at the silly things we read others do when low, (hello, HypoBoy).
Every time I saw a comment from someone who said a version of ‘That happens to me too!’ I felt tingles. That connection comes only when we feel that we are not alone, that someone understands what we are going through. I get it – it’s why I read diabetes blogs and listen to diabetes podcasts. I’m looking for real life, authentic stories, the lived experience.
As I said in the Facebook live chat, this campaign is a form of peer support. Because that is exactly what is happening – people with diabetes supporting each other, using stories that resonate, make us feel like we part of a tribe, helping us understand that our way of dealing with something is just as legitimate as anyone else’s.
We all do it – we all seek out those that stories mirror our own. That doesn’t mean that we have to think the same way or do the same things or feel the same way. It’s not about there being a one size experience or everyone having the same thoughts and ideas. In fact, the diversity in what we see and read is important because it means that we can find the ones that we connect with most and help us better make sense of our own experience.
Too often, the story of diabetes is told using statistics. That is the way researchers and healthcare professionals and governments talk. But for those of us actually living with diabetes, it will never be about the one in how-ever-many-thousand. We don’t want to hear how the dice is likely to roll or how the numbers keep getting more and more stacked against us the longer we live with this condition. We don’t connect with data, statistics or numbers. We connect with people and to their stories. That’s what we need to tell. And that’s what we need to hear.

I walk into a room of people. It’s a work meeting, and I am with a couple of colleagues. We’re greeted by about 8 others who all work for a large diabetes-related organisation. Two or three are from their Australian office, the rest have travelled from Europe. They’re here to meet with people working in the diabetes space to get an idea of the landscape in Australia.
We take our seats at a U-shaped table; we’re brought coffees. Introductions start. One of the overseas visitors tells us a bit about who he is, and rounds out his introduction by saying ‘I have type 1 diabetes. And I use Dexcom,’ he says, looking straight at me.
It’s summer in Melbourne and I am wearing a short-sleeved top. The Dex adorning the top of my left arm is clearly visible. I smile at him. ‘Snap!’ I say.
The meeting continues, with a lot of discussions and chatter. My new friend asks a lot of questions, some directed at me. I know what he is doing – it’s that thing people with diabetes who are ‘working in’ diabetes do. We try to learn how others manage living with a condition and working it too.
The meetings winds up; people start to chat with each other, continuing on from some of the discussions we’ve just had.
And the two PWD immediately turn to walk to each other. We shake hands and fall into an easy conversation. We speak about the challenge and responsibility of having diabetes while working in the space. We ask each other more questions and we listen carefully. And then we talk about our own diabetes, starting with ‘When were you diagnosed?’. I want to know how he found being diagnosed with diabetes after having already worked for a number of years for a diabetes-related organisation. We work out if we will be at any of the same meetings or conferences throughout the year.
The meeting is over. We shake hands again, and say good bye.
I walk to the elevator with my colleagues, thinking about the different ways people with diabetes connect. It happens like this. We find each other in a room. We see each other in a café. We opportunistically meet in a gelati shop. We bump into each other on the street. And we talk. We learn from each other. We gather information. We feel connected.
We get it.

Last weekend, we were in Carlton, waiting to order some lunch in a casual café. We stood there deciding what we wanted, waiting for our turn. We reached the counter and were about to order when the woman behind the counter said something. It took me a moment to realise she was speaking directly to me. ‘Sorry?’I smiled at her, asking her to repeat herself. ‘Your Dexcom,’ she said. ‘How do you find it?’ My smile got wider. ‘Oh, I love it! Wouldn’t be without it.’ I said. ‘Do you use one?’
She rolled up the sleeve on her tee-shirt, turning her body slightly. ‘No, I use Libre,’ she said, pointing to the sensor on her upper arm. ‘But I’ve been wondering about the Dexcom.’
She was young, and was diagnosed about four years ago. ‘It’s hard,’ she said to me, and then asked how long I’ve had type 1. ‘Twenty years,’ I watched her eyes widen. ‘And yes…I know. It can be hard.’
She told me she thought it was really tough being diagnosed as a young adult. ‘I remember not having to think about diabetes. It makes it hard that I have to think differently about things now because of diabetes. Like when I want to go out drinking. I think it would be easier being diagnosed younger so it’s all you know.’
‘I’m not sure there is ever a good age to be diagnosed with diabetes. I think each age would probably have its challenges. I’ve always felt that I maybe was a little lucky missing the teenage years and all that comes with it. But it certainly wasn’t easy being diagnosed at twenty four… it sucks all ‘round!’
Back in September, in a little street in Rome as we waited to order gelato, I had another ‘diabetes in the wild’ moment. The gorgeous Roman sun meant almost everyone was walking around in tank tops and strappy sundresses. ‘Look,’ said the kidlet, her eyes on the arm of the woman in front of me…and the unmistakable disc of her Libre sensor.
You can guess what I did next:

After introducing myself, we chatted about our diabetes tech. We spoke about funding and how we need the technology to live well, and how much easier it makes travel and negotiating time zones. Oh, and then we talked about the wonderful times we were having in Rome and the delicious food. It’s never all about diabetes!
After last weekend’s encounter, I realised that despite knowing a lot of people with diabetes, I still feel the need to reach out when I see another. And these days, I seem to always ask a version of the same question: ‘Do you know many people with diabetes?’ I guess I’m taking the temperature to see just what their support network looks like when it comes to other people in the know and how linked in they are with other PWDs.
We look to connect with the people whose stories mimic ours because that’s how we make sense of our own diabetes, or the diabetes of someone in our family. The other day when I visited with a family support group, the connection shared between the parents of children and teens with diabetes was clearly on show. One parent told me that until she started spending time with other parents of kids with diabetes she felt so isolated. ‘They’re the only ones who get it,’ she said me and I nodded furiously. Because while I don’t ‘get’ her situation, I certainly do understand what it means to find that connection with others who do.
For me, I do peer support in a very casual way. It is informal. How I have come to know those in my tribe has usually been completely serendipitous and the way we remain connected is too. It’s the occasional phone or Facebook messages, sharing something we’ve seen or checking in after we notice something on their social feeds. It’s the ‘Can we Skype now?’ from a friend in a different time zone looking to find a few minutes to catch up (or, even better, catching up with those in different time zones IRL thanks to my crazy travel schedule!). Or it’s the quickly organised ‘Let’s catch up for a coffee somewhere local’ from those not only in the same time zone, but also the same postcode!
We talk about the value of peer support, and there is increasing evidence to show just how valuable it is.
So for November and Diabetes Awareness Month, one of the things I think we need more awareness of is the value of those connections. ‘Prescribing’ peer support always seems an odd way of thinking about it, but perhaps there is some merit in ensuring that part of HCP training includes introducing the merit of peer support, and providing information about how they can point people with diabetes to others.
My tribe of other people living with diabetes hold me up, hold me together and hold me close. I wish that for everyone.
Last week, I spent a busy week at Australasian Diabetes Congress. I spent a lot of time with work colleagues, health professionals, the event organisers and researchers.
And I was fortunate because most of the time, I was around at least one of my peers. Between the #DAPeoplesVoice team, (Mel, Frank and David), other diabetes friends from home, (Ash, Kim, Gordon and Cheryl), and away (Grumps), there was always someone nearby who I could rely on to ‘get’ diabetes. (This is important always, but conferences have their own special challenges where diabetes mates are certainly appreciated to help keep some perspective!)
I have written countless times before about the power of peer support. I have also written that my peers have been the ones to have truly helped me through some of the most difficult diabetes situations I’ve faced – not necessarily with advice, but simply a knowing look, a nod of the head, or the words ‘me too’. Our peers help us make sense of what we are dealing with, provide us with endless support and help make us feel connected to others. And that’s important with a condition such as diabetes, because it is all too easy to feel that we are on our own.
Which is why I was so pleased to learn about ConnecT1ons, a new initiative from Diabetes Vic, which is looking to provide that support to another group within the diabetes world – parents of kids with diabetes.

It is undeniable that parents of children living with diabetes have their own brand of challenges. This was brought home to me again last week during the Diabetes and Schools Forum when parent of three children with type 1 diabetes, Shannon Macpherson, spoke about some of the difficulties she and her family have faced with her children in the school setting.
And again this morning, when I was speaking with a parent who is having a very tough time with her young, kindergarten-aged child. ‘Renza,’ she said to me, as she explained what was going on. ‘You have no idea. Having a child with diabetes is impossible because we cannot be with them when they probably need us the most.’ She’s right – I have no idea.
But other parents of children with diabetes would and do understand. And as they shared their empathy, they would also probably share some of the things they’ve done to help them through similar tricky situations.
Diabetes Victoria is looking to bring parents like this together for an event where they can meet other parents of children with diabetes. Plus, it’s a few days of respite from looking after their child with diabetes, while knowing their kid is safe (and having an absolute ball) at diabetes camp. What a brilliant idea all ‘round!
You can watch a video explaining the project here, and hear from Jade, the mum of a young boy with diabetes share some of her experiences – and how parents just like her will benefit from ConnecT1ions.
As is always the case, finding funds for initiatives like this is a struggle, so today, Diabetes Victoria launched a crown funding campaign and is seeking to raise $15,000 to run ConnecT1ons. If more is raised, they can run additional events. The crowd funding is only open for a week, so please do consider making a donation – and doing it now! Click here to be taken to the Pozible page.
Congratulations to Diabetes Victoria for acknowledging that parents of kids with diabetes are a specific group that need support amongst their own peers. Extra huge congrats to Kim Henshaw who has spearheaded this project as part of her role as Children and Families Coordinator.
Please do donate. I returned home last week after spending time with my peers feeling refreshed, energised and connected. Parents of kids with diabetes deserve to feel the same by spending time with each other.

Not a functioning beta cell amongst us.
Disclosure
None! I was sent information about ConnecT1ons from the Communications Manager at Diabetes Victoria last week, but she did not ask me to write about it. I don’t work for Diabetes Victoria (I left there back in Jan 2016) and have had nothing to do with this new initiative. But you have to admit it’s a good one. Hence, this post.





#DOCDAY is now as much of the EASD program as other satellite events. While you may not see me limbering up at the start line of the EASD5K, you certainly will see me prepping for #DOCDAY!





For the second session, Grumps and I drove a discussion focused on decision making and choice when it comes to diabetes technologies, with a strong theme running through that while the people in the room may know (and perhaps even use) the latest and greatest in tech, most people using insulin are still using MDI and BG monitoring as their diabetes tech. (For some perspective: in Australia, there are 120,000 people with type 1 diabetes and about 300,000 insulin-requiring people with type 2 diabetes. Only about 23,000 people use insulin pumps as their insulin delivery method. And there would not be anywhere near that number using CGM.)
We moved to the Adelaide Oval for dinner for a final presentation by CDE and fellow PWD, Cheryl Steele, who also spoke about accuracy and why it is critical (this went beyond just talking about the new meter). I walked away considering my lax attitude to CGM calibration…not that I’ve necessarily made any changes to that attitude yet.





