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At the best of times, I’ll celebrate any kind of anniversary, but it seemed even more important to acknowledge my ‘loopiversary’ this year in what can really only be termed as the most fucked of times. Last week, I clicked over three years of looping, a decision that remains the smartest and most sensible I have ever made when it comes to my own diabetes management.
In reflecting just how Loop has affected my diabetes over the last three years, I’ve learnt a few things and here are some of them:
- The words I wrote in this post not long after I’d started looping are still true today: ‘…this technology has revolutionised every aspect of my diabetes, from the way I sleep, eat and live. I finish [the year] far less burdened by diabetes than I was at the beginning of the year.’
- The #WeAreNotWaiting community is but one part of the DOC, but it has provided the way forward for a lot of PWD to be able to manage their diabetes in ways we never thought possible.
- Even before I began to Loop, the kindness and generosity of people in that community was clear. I took this photo of Dana and Melissa, two women I am now lucky to count amongst my dearest friends, at an event at ADA, just after they had given me a morale boosting pep talk, promising that not only could I build loop for myself, but they would be there to answer any questions I may have. I bet they’re sorry they made that offer!
- Loop’s benefits are far, far beyond just diabetes. Sure, my diabetes is easier to manage, and any clinical measurement will show how much ‘better’ I am doing , but the fact that diabetes intrudes so much less in my life is, for me, the real advantage of using it.
- That, and sleep!
- I get ridiculously excited when other people make the leap to looping! I have watched friends’ loops turn green for the very first time and have wanted to cry with joy because only now will they understand what I’ve been ranting about. And experience the same benefits I keep bleating on about.
- It’s not for everyone. (But then, no one said it was.)
- You get out what you put in. The more effort and time and analysis you put into any aspect of diabetes will yield results. But with Loop, even minimal effort (I call the way I do loop ‘Loop lite’) means far better diabetes management than I could ever achieve without it.
- It took an out of the box solution to do, and excel at, what every piece of commercial diabetes tech promises to do on the box – and almost always falls short.
- It’s amazing how quickly I adapted to walking around all the time with another but of diabetes tech. My trusty pink RL has just been added to the phone/pump/keys/ wallet (and, of course, mask) checklist that runs through my head before I leave the house.
- Travelling with an external pancreas (even one with extra bits) is no big deal.
- I was by no means an early adopter of DIY tech, but I was way ahead pretty much any HCPs (except, of course, those living with diabetes). The first talk I gave about Loop still scars me. But it is pleasing to see that HCPs are becoming much more aware and accepting of the tech, and willing to support PWD who make the choice to use it.
- The lack of understanding about just what this tech does is astonishing. I surprised to still see people claiming that it is dangerous because users are ‘hacking’ devices. Language matters and you bet that this sort of terminology makes us sound like cowboys rather than having been thoughtful and considered before going down the DIY path.
- The lengths detractors (usually HCPs and industry) will go to when trying to discredit DIYAPS shouldn’t, but does, surprise me. The repeated claims that it is not safe and that people using the tech (for themselves or their kids) are being reckless still get my shackles up.
- Perhaps worst of all are those that claim to be on the side of those using tech, but under the guise of playing ‘devil’s advocate’ do more damage than those who outwardly refuse to support the use of the technology.
- The irony of being considered deliberately non-compliant when my diabetes is the most compliant it ever has been hurts my pea-sized brain. regularly.
- There is data out there showing the benefits and safety of looping. Hours and hours and hours of it.
- My privilege is on show each and every single time I look at the Loop app on my phone. I am aware every day that the benefits of this sort of technology are not available to most people and that is simply not good enough.
- Despite all the positives, diabetes is still there. And that means that diabetes burnout is still real. But now, I feel guilty when feeling burnt out because honestly, what do I have to complain about?
But perhaps the most startling thing I learnt on this: The most variable – and dangerous – aspect of my diabetes management has always been … me! Loop takes away a lot of what I need to do – and a lot of the mistakes I could, and frequently did, make. Loop for me is safer and so, so much smarter and better at diabetes than I could ever hope to be. I suspect that as better commercial hybrid closed loop systems come onto the market, those who have been wary to try a DIY solution will understand why some people chose to not wait.
And finally, perfect numbers are never going to happen with diabetes. But that’s not the goal, really is it? For me, it’s about diabetes demanding and being given as little physical and emotional time and space in my life. With Loop, sure numbers are better – but not perfect – and I do a lot less to make them that way. It took a system that did more for me, keeps me in range for most of my day, and has reduced the daily impact of diabetes in my life to truly understand that numbers don’t matter.
(For Daniela, Elena and Francesca.)
I wrote this piece for ‘No D Day’ back in 2012 when Aaron and I were holidaying in Rome. Of course, the aim of No D Day was to capture something that is totally unrelated to diabetes. I was caught up in the beauty, excitement and frenzy of Rome, and simply couldn’t think of a better topic to focus my writing efforts.
Rome – 2018
We visited Rome again in 2018, this time taking the kid with us. She’d been to Italy before, but not its capital. I wondered if she would fall in love with it the way that we had; if she would get swept up in the buzz and the people and the wonderful madness of it all. She did, in spades. We arrived late in the evening, and as soon as we dropped off our bags at our apartment, we took straight to the streets for pizza. She was in love with the city before her first slice.
I am reading everything I can about how Italians are banding together to get through this impossible time, and thinking so much about my Italian friends. I had no idea when I saw Daniela, Elena and Francesca at ATTD that we may not see each other for some time, or what they had ahead of them when they went back home. These women are like family to me, taking me under their wing and allowing me to pretend that I am part of the Italian crew at diabetes meetings, and half as graceful and smart and stylish as they are. I’m not, but they are sweet to play along.
I know that we will visit Italy again. As soon as this is all over, we will go back, and fall in love with it all over again. Until then, I’m sending so much love to friends and family over there.
Jet lag is a bitch, but it does have its benefits. On our first full day in Rome we were out the door before 7am and watched the city wake up. Our apartment was a short stroll from the Spanish Steps. The afternoon before when we’d arrived, our driver had to battle his way throught the crowds to our tiny via. There were people everywhere – tourists with huge cameras, kids with gelati the size of their heads, locals pushing their way through the crowds and annoying men shoving roses into the faces of unsuspecting women and then demanding their partners hand over a few euro. It was chaos; it was loud; it is Italy and I love it.
But at first light, the area around the Spanish Steps was empty apart from a council worker hosing down the area, getting it ready for the onslaught. We saw a few nuns walking together, possibly on their way to an early morning service. The coffee bar owners were just starting to open their doors and set out the morning pastries.
We walked into the first open cafe we saw, stood at the bar and drank our perfect morning coffees and munched on crunchy cornetti filled with creamy custard.
Fuelled by caffeine and sugar, we walked. We started with the Trevi Fountain and were the only two people standing there. We snapped photos, read the signs and listened to the water flow. Together, we threw in coins – the legend promises we will now return to Rome.
We sat at the fountain, the spray from the water hitting our faces in the cool morning air. Slowly, other people started arriving, so we up and left and continued our walk. We wandered down little streets, stopped in different campi and watched as Rome woke up. We pointed out signs, statues and looked in closed shop windows.
And then, we turned a corner and before our eyes was the Colosseum.
It was after 9am by this time and the steets were starting to fill up again. The tables outside cafes were full. There was noise, laughter, talking.
I feel at home in Italy, which is ridiculous considering that I was born and raised in Australia by parents who moved here when they were tiny children. But it makes sense to me. The craziness of it and what looks like complete and utter disorganisation is actually ordered chaos. It works for the people who live there. Yes, it may take an hour to buy stamps at the post office (this did really happen – Aaron returned home to our apartment defeated, but at least our postcards home were mailed), and yes, it may take the woman at the gelati bar ten minutes to hand you your gelati because she’s talking to someone about her boyfriend and keeps walking away from the counter to tell her story, and yes, it is possible that you will get hit by a motorino scooting on the footpath.
But this is Italy. It’s beautiful. It’s crazy. It’s loud. And when I am there I feel my senses on fire and I am more alive than anywhere else. I just love being there. Love.
Empty Spanish Steps bright and early on a Sunday morning – 2012
These days, I usually don’t show my glucose data online. When I first started Looping (about two and a half years ago), I regularly posted the flat CGM lines that amazed and surprised me. I also shared the not-flat lines that showed how hard my Loop app was working as temp basal rates changed almost every five minutes. The technology worked hard so I didn’t need to, and the results were astonishing to me. I shared them with disbelief. (And gratitude.)
I stopped doing that for a number of reasons. It did get boring, and I definitely recognise my privilege when I say that. I also acknowledge my privilege at being able to access the devices required for the technology to work. And there was the consideration that sharing these sorts of stats and data online inevitably lead to comparisons and competition. That was never my intention, but I certainly didn’t want to add to someone having a crappy diabetes day while I blabbed about how easy my day had been.
But today, I’m sharing this:
This was my previous 30-day time in range data from the Dexcom Clarity app on the day I arrived back home in Australia after returning from New York. (My range is set to 3.9mmol/l – 8.1mmol/l.) I’m not sharing it to show off or to boast. I don’t want congratulations or high fives. In fact, if anyone was to see this and pat me on the back, I would respond with the words: ‘I had very little do with it’.
I can’t really take credit for these numbers and would feel a fraud if anyone thought I worked hard to make this happen. Using an automated insulin delivery system full time means that I do so much less diabetes than ever before while yielding time-in-range data that I could once only dream of.
I want to share it, not to focus on the numbers (because it’s NEVER about the numbers!), but to explain what happens when diabetes tools get better and better, and what that means in reality to me.
Those thirty days included the following: End of year break up parties for work and other projects (four of those); ‘We-must-catch-up-before-the-end-of-the-year’ drinks with friends (dozens of those!); actual Xmas family celebrations (three of those over a day and a half– and I’m from an Italian family, so just think of the quantities of food consumed there). Oh, and then there were the three weeks away in NY with my family. Our holiday consisted of long-haul flights from Australia, frightful jet lag (there and back), a lot of food and drink indulgences, out-of-whack schedules, late nights, gallons of coffee, no routine, and more doughnuts than I should admit to consuming.
Add to that some diabetes bloopers of epic proportion that had the potential to completely and utterly railroad any best laid plans: insulin going bad, blocked infusion sets, sensors not lasting the distance, a Dex transmitter disaster.
And yet, despite all of that, my diabetes remained firmly in the background, chugging away, bothering me very little, with the end result being time in range of over eighty per cent.
This graph is only part of the story of why I so appreciate the technology that allowed me to have a carefree and relaxed month. Diabetes intruded so little into our holiday. I bolused from my iPhone or Apple watch, so diabetes devices were rarely even seen. Alarms were few and far between and easily silenced. I was rugged up in the NY cold, so no one even commented on the Dex on my upper arm. The few times I went low, a slug of juice or a few fruit pastilles were all it took, rather than needing to sit out for minutes or hours. Diabetes didn’t make me feel tired or overwhelmed, and my family didn’t need to adapt and adjust to accommodate it.
That time-in-range graph may be the physical evidence that can point to just how my diabetes behaved, but there is a lot more to it, namely, the lack of diabetes I needed to do!
As I spoke about this with Aaron, he reminded me of my well-worn comments about not waiting around for a diabetes cure. ‘You’ve always said that although you would love a cure, it’s the idea that diabetes is easier to manage that excites you. Ten years ago, when you spoke about what that looked like, you used to talk about diabetes intruding less and being less of a burden to your day. That is what you have now. And it is incredible.’
In a couple of weeks, the diabetes conference juggernaut will descend on Madrid for ATTD.
This one is all about new treatments and technologies in the world of diabetes and, in its thirteenth year, looks to once again be a busy and enlightening meeting.
There is so much on the program that focuses on user-led technologies and initiatives. I think it’s fair to say that PWD have long recognised that technology in diabetes is more than just the devices we wear on our bodies. We have long used technology for support and to connect to others who help us manage the day-to-day life of diabetes, and to learn and share. DIYAPS may be about the systems, but grasping the role of online platforms and support is essential in understanding the #WeAreNotWaiting movement as a whole.
It’s great that a number of PWD already know that they will be part of ATTD this year, attending satellite events run by different device and drug companies. Some are on the program and some will be there through other opportunities and work.
The more the merrier, I say! Different voices with different experiences sharing and learning is always a great thing. And having the opportunity to meet people in real life after only seeing them online adds another dimension to our peer support networks.
For European diabetes friends yet to secure a place at ATTD, there is another possible avenue in, but you need to be quick. Launching at ATTD is the new #dedoc° voices program. Although #dedoc°has its foundations in Germany it is truly an international community, involving people from all over the world. #docday° events (always a highlight at these conferences) involve diabetes advocates from across Europe and the US, and even the odd Australian, too. It’s great to see this new initiative is helping more advocates get a seat at the diabetes conference table as active participants.
APPLY NOW
If you want to be considered for the #dedoc° voices program, you need apply, which is super simple – just go here, where you will find out all about the program and how to throw your name in the ring! Applications close on Friday, so chop chop!
Successful applicants will have their travel and accommodation costs reimbursed, and will receive full registration to the conference.
Good luck. And hope you see you there.
Disclosure
I am an advisor to the #dedoc° voices program. I do not receive any payment for this role.
I am an invited speaker at ATTD 2020. Lilly Diabetes is covering my travel and part of my accommodation so I can participate in the DOCLab advisory group meeting held during ATTD.
My packing-for-travel routine is pretty relaxed. We left for New York at 8am on Boxing Day and I started packing when we got home from our five millionth family gathering at about 10pm on Xmas night.
Admittedly, my laid back attitude to diabetes-supplies packing could be because I usually spend my time travelling surrounded by other PWD who are far better organised than I could ever hope to be. I know that if I run out of insulin, pack the wrong glucose strips for the meter I’m carrying or forget a charging cable, someone will be able to help me out. (I know this because these things have all happened. More than once. Way more than once.)
Anyway, I thought that I had done a pretty damn good job of throwing everything I needed together for New York, with back up supplies and contingencies. As we headed to the airport bright and early, still full of my mother’s Xmas zippoli, I felt comfortable that diabetes was going to be a relatively easy companion on this trip.
Turned out that I got it mostly right. Just not completely!
Issue one happened when I got a transmitter low battery warning the first week we were in NY. ‘Bugger,’ I thought, remembering back to the last time I recharged my Fenix G5 transmitter*. It was while I was sitting at breakfast one morning in Boston at ISPAD. I recalled that I definitely hadn’t had the transmitter plugged in long enough for a full charge. At the time, I thought I’d charge it fully the next time I did a sensor change…and then promptly forgot.
Of course, I had forgotten to pack the very specific charger required to recharge my Fenix. And I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was called. ‘It has two little magnetic-y things on the side. And it’s kind of shaped like this,’ I said sketching a rough picture to the people behind the counter in about fifteen electrical stores around the city.
After getting nothing more than blank stares, I went directly to the source – Facebook – and sent a message to a couple of tech friends back home (including the bloke responsible for building the device). I had a response minutes later, placed an Amazon Prime order straight away and two days later my Fenix was charging on the kitchen counter in our apartment.
I had a re-batteried travel transmitter with me that I used in the interim (with layer upon layer upon layer of waterproof tape over the top of it because I had also forgotten to pack the resin needed to finish off that little device…), but as soon as the Fenix was fully charged, I reset it and shoved it back into the still in situ sensor. Crisis mostly averted.
And then there was the run in with Dex sensors. I’d sited a new sensor a day or two before we left and took two spares with me. I usually get three weeks out of a sensor, so thought that if lucky I wouldn’t even need to change one at all during our time away. But if I did, I would be right and have another there … and a spare just in case.
Well, best laid plans and all… the original sensor failed after less than a week. The second sensor did too, and the third sensor was actually faulty – the needle scarily poking out the end as I released it all from the packaging.
I believe the word I used at that point was ‘Fuck’. Loudly. And then turned straight back to Facebook with this:
A few NY friends reached out and shared the post, and within an hour, I had organised to meet up with someone who could help me out. Thanks a million to Stacey for connecting us, and thanks two million to Caroline who rode into Manhattan with her ridiculously beautiful baby to drop off sensors to me and have a coffee. (Off topic, but Caroline and I thought this was our first-time meeting, but we realised later that we had met for dinner one night in New York back in 2011!)
I am forever grateful for the support I receive from my peers online – and being my back up plan because I am so crap at diabetes. I do promise to try to do better when getting myself organised for travel, but I know that I am still likely to get things wrong. Diabetes is a hard task master and demands a lot. Slip ups happen.
But there is always help at hand. I was off Twitter at the time, feeling particularly vulnerable after the brutal time on there at the end of the year. Thankfully I had Facebook to turn to and a huge group of diabetes friends there to help me out. But what if that wasn’t the case? This is why our online spaces must be safe at all times, and why that power imbalance between HCPs and PWD, and how potentially harmful that can be, needs to be recognised. We need to feel safe reaching out wherever our peers are for whatever support we need. I did that and that’s why this blogpost is called ‘Peer support on the road’ rather than ‘Loopless in New York’!
Back to the important things.
* I use a rechargeable G5 transmitter with my Dexcom, built by a very clever bloke in Australia.
So, this is 2020? How are you going? I returned from overseas to a country literally burning and choked in smoke; a government that is refusing to accept that climate change is real; and a news organisation making up the narrative to suit themselves (arsonists are everywhere, apparently).
Bet you didn’t expect me to get so political before midday on a Monday!
Today is my first day back at work after three weeks of holidays in New York with my family. We spent the time basically relocating our Melbourne life to New York: finding a favourite café that served decent coffee, drinking great quantities of said coffee, wandering the streets, playing with (other people’s) dogs, warming up in bookstores and catching up with friends. It was the perfect way to farewell 2019 and welcome 2020.
As I have mentioned a million times before, I don’t do resolutions. You may not know this, but I live with diabetes, and that in itself gives me enough reasons to not reach goals and targets. I don’t need to add another list of things of which to fall short.
For the last three years, I’ve chosen a word that I’ve hoped would oversee and direct my way of thinking and acting for the year. As it turns out, that was a load of rubbish. Because each time, as I searched for the word that I wanted to guide me, the one I settled on went against the very grain of who I am.
The words were pause, focus and reset – and behind them was the idea that I would respond in ways that were really out of character; words that would silence or calm my natural responses.
But that’s not me. I walk towards things (usually at pace), I’m impulsive, I’m reactive. Sure, these may not necessarily be the best traits for a mindful, calm existence, and they can be exhausting, but welcome to my life: Hi, I’m Renza.
This year, I’m ditching the word idea, and using a phrase that better suits me, and that phrase is Stand Up.
We are living in a world that does not need people to be silent. Manners are all very important, but it is very possible to have manners and be polite, but still challenge things that we see as not right. We don’t need to be told how to think, how to feel, how to respond to something that upsets us. We don’t need to tone police ourselves – or others. We don’t need to accept what we are given.
And in the diabetes space, we don’t need people to be meek and mild. We need people who are disrupters and who speak their minds and who call out the bullshit. We definitely need to make sure that the voice of PWD is the loudest in the room, and that anyone who tries, even for a second on any platform, to tell us to pipe down is called out for it.
We do not need people to go quietly, and I am somewhat horrified that I did just that at the end of last year when I was feeling intimidated and vulnerable online. If I’m honest, I don’t recognise the person who switched her Twitter to private and wrote this thread to explain it to the people who were asking why.
Being angry is okay because there is a lot to get angry about in diabetes care. Not standing up means that we accept the situation for how it is. We can do it in a way that is nice and friendly, but sometimes it takes more than that. And that is okay.
I have never cared about being popular in the DOC or being considered one of the cool kids. I have never worried about follower numbers. I searched for this community because I needed support and I needed to feel part of something amongst people who were just life me. Other people with diabetes.
When I re-read my twitter thread from before Xmas, my heart broke NOT at what had happened; but at how I felt that the only way for me to stop feeling so unsafe was to turn away from the community – MY community. It was this tweet that set my tears running again:
I thought that if I had wandered into the DOC for the first time instead of the welcoming place it was, I saw PWD being challenged, I would have run away. THAT was what broke my heart – the very idea that I would not have discovered people like Kerri, Georgie, Cherise, Melissa, Mike, Dana, Grumps, David, Manny, Jeff, Mel, Frank, Alanna, Kelly, Ashleigh, Scott, Annie, Alecia, Bastian, Daniela and so, so many others. I don’t know how I would have navigated the murky waters of life with diabetes without those people: MY people for whom diabetes actually invades our DNA and the DNA of our loved ones. People there for the right reasons – not for the accolades, not for increasing follower counts. They are community-minded, open to opposing ideas and thoughts, and don’t consider themselves superheroes.
If I had have gone quietly, I would never have learnt from them; never had the support of people who understand; never had people like that at my back when I do stand up.
So, I don’t go quietly ever again. I stand up as I always have. I accept that doing that will send me into periods of advocacy burnout; I’ll deal with that when it happens, surrounded my friends and peers who get it.
So yes, this is 2020. I’m back. It’s really nice to see you here.
Each year, as we stop, look back and take stock, the reason that we are feeling so tired becomes apparent. This year is no different for me; my work travel calendar was the most intense it has ever been, with nine long haul trips, some for only a day or two. Combined with regular domestic travel, I can truly say that I have seen the inside of airports far too much. I stopped adding up the trips I did once I passed 100 walks down airbridges to board planes because it was making me weepy.
But on top of the usual exhaustion this year, there seems to be an extra element of fatigue that goes beyond what I’ve experienced before.
But first, let’s talk highlights, because there have been many of them.
The year kicked off with Spare A Rose and whoa, did we start the year with a bang! With the true philosophy of SaR at the forefront (an initiative for the community, by the community), we not only reached our rather audacious target, we smashed it! A cheeky and opportunistic little extra push saw a smiling Grumpy Pumper unleashed to the whole world for just a moment The DOC didn’t break, but the final tally of for the campaign meant that 939 kids in under-resourced countries would be receiving insulin for a year. Amazing!
My favourite issue, #LanguageMatters, only went from strength to strength, and the publication of this piece in BMJ, followed by this podcast, was a brilliant way to get it outside of the diabetes echo chamber. The importance of language featured on the programs of major conferences such as ADA and #IDF2019 with stellar panels speaking about why it really does matter.
My diabetes turned 21 and tied up in all the emotion of that, my pancreas’ performance review didn’t go all that well. Maybe next year? (Unlikely.)
Possibly the most exciting, heart-warming, rewarding and humbling thing I did this year was co-facilitate a workshop in Manila with some of the most dynamic, compassionate and enthusiastic young diabetes advocates I have ever met. I’m thrilled have had a chance to catch up with a couple of the people from this meeting and can see the wonderful work they are doing in more than trying circumstances.
Peer support was never far away. One of my favourite digital campaigns came from Diabetes Australia (remember – I work there so consider my bias) with our The Lowdown campaign. What a brilliant way to showcase how a digital campaign can reach and connect people from all over the world, and encourage them to safely speak about a topic that doesn’t seem to get anywhere enough coverage. I spoke about the campaign’s success in a number of places this year.
My own personal peer support experiences happened all around the globe at conferences, advisory board meetings and other opportunities to see friends and colleagues with diabetes. These moments ground me and help me make sense of what I am seeing and hearing, and are critical for keeping me balanced.
A special shout out to these two peers and dear, dear friends: Bastian and Grumps. We saw each other an inordinate number of times this year, literally all over the globe, travelling on planes, trains and automobiles for our #DiabetesOnTour. I do think we should launch a calendar of the 2020 pics. (Admittedly, we may be the only ones remotely interested in that idea.) When I talk about my diabetes tribe, it’s friends like these two. We’ve celebrated through some pretty amazing things this year, stood up to elevate the lived experience over and over, and also counselled each other through the tough bits. We’ve held post-mortems of long days, sitting in hotel foyers and bars, trying to make sense of what has happened, working out how to always improve, and plotting and planning more and more and more. I am so grateful to them for being the scaffolding holding me up when I’m away from home and feeling overwhelmed.
So, now the reason for that elevated exhaustion…
When I first wrote about advocacy burnout back in January this year, I had no idea at the time that it would set the scene for a difficult and sometimes troubling theme for the year. I get tired and overcome at times throughout the year, but 2019 was different and I’m not really sure why.
There were moments this year where I did honestly wonder how much more energy I have to stand up over and over again to a lot of what I was seeing. I don’t like using war and battle analogies in diabetes, but I did feel that I was fighting a lot of the time. Diabetes advocacy is a tough gig to begin with. Adding burnout on top of it makes it seem shattering.
Being attacked by HCPs for daring to voice my thoughts and challenge their behaviour, or getting it from certain, more confrontational parts of the diabetes community, or having industry reps tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about for daring to suggest that maybe their lame attempts to simulate diabetes in gameshow-style gimmicks at conferences could be better directed at actually engaging and listening to PWD all added up.
Or perhaps it was the repeated examples of ‘diabetes for laughs’…and realising that we are a long way away from HCPs truly being allies in our daily encounters with stigma.
Or perhaps it was feeling that we needed to justify just how important the #LanguageMatters movement, and the decade of work we’ve done really is. I can’t even begin to tell you how upsetting this little incident was.
It added up and several times I’ve felt overcome. I feel like that today. Which is disappointing because on measure, the highlights, the positives and the amazing community should overshadow the negative encounters.
And that is why I’m taking a break from Diabetogenic. I need some time away from feeling as though I want to analyse what is going on and comment on it. I have a wonderful holiday planned with my gorgeous family where we will see friends and wander wintery streets, rugged up in pompom hats. And then, will warm up once back in Australia to finish recharging my seriously diminished batteries, ready for a new year that’s already shaping up to be so, so busy.
Until then, I hope you have a wonderful holiday season, celebrating however you see fit. Thanks for popping by. And I’ll see you in 2020, clapping my hands and raring to go!
Busan is a very different city today than it was last week. There won’t be warmly dressed people hurrying into BEXCO with IDF2019 lanyards around their necks, eager to learn about diabetes. The word ‘diabetes’ won’t be uttered in almost every language of the globe. There won’t be Melbourne diabetes people loudly lamenting that Starbucks seems to be the coffee of choice in the city.
And you won’t see groups of people from all around the world standing together talking about what it’s like to live with diabetes. Most of us have gone home to our respective corners of the world, back to our families, back to our jobs, back to our real lives. But we will always have Busan and the incredible week of the IDF Congress.
By the time I arrived in Busan on Monday, the IDF was already a different beast. There was a new President and Board in place and some of the concerns that we’d had about the handover had melted away to nothing. This paved the way for what we really there for: a week of learning, networking, hearing different perspectives and truly uniting for diabetes.
We did that.
Was it a perfect conference? Of course not; they never are. There were hiccoughs and AV fun. There were controversies that played out online very differently to the way they actually happened in real life. There were sessions – critically important and brilliant sessions from all streams– with disappointing turnouts.
But these are all minor concerns that are the reality of every conference I have ever attended. There will be a time for post-mortems and evaluations and planning for improvements to future conferences. That time, however, is not now. Now is the time to celebrate.
IDF 2019 was a brilliant showcase of diabetes from around the globe. As expected, I only attended sessions from the Living with Diabetes stream and every single story was beautifully presented, and enhanced by the professional expertise of the HCPs who shared the stage. Amongst the incredible tales were moments of discomfort. It’s challenging to hear of the struggles many of my sisters and brothers with diabetes face in their day to day lives. I was forced to confront my privilege in a way that demands more than just acknowledging it there.
Also, difficult to accept is realising that sometimes the chasm between what people living with diabetes want and need and what HCPs and researchers think we want is gulf-like. For every HCP who ‘gets us’ and understands the value of lived experience in the healthcare space dialogue, there are many others who just don’t accept it, and, despairingly, don’t want to listen.
But more on that another day. Because for now, I’m focused on the people who did such a stellar job. So here are just some of them!
Two hours after touching down in Busan, and we kicked off the sixth Ascensia Social Media Summit with these gems.
Bright and early on day 1 of IDF2019, and the auditorium was packed to hear about diabetes and tech.
Always, ALWAYS, pleased to share the stage with Jane. Here we are just before the panel session.
Georgie excited to TALK ABOUT HYPOS! (We couldn’t understand why there was an explanation mark at the end of that sentence.)
Manny Hernandez gave the LWD Stream Award Lecture and there is no one more qualified to talk about the importance of diabetes community. How honoured I was to introduce him!
Celebrating Manny! (Photo courtesy of Boudewijn Bertsch)
From Melbourne to Busan. Neighbours at IDF2019. Jo was speaking about living with a rare type of diabetes and Andy was there for support (and photos from rooftops).
This woman! Sana, deputy lead of the LWD Stream and a bright, fierce force.
Anita eloquently explaining the challenges of living with diabetes-related complications in Indonesia.
Apoorva highlighting #LanguageMatters in her talk.
Some of the most dynamic young people I have ever met at the Young Leaders in Diabetes Training Summit.
Cherise can always be relied upon to ask thoughtful questions.
I’ve lost count of the cities we’ve done our #DiabetesOnTour this year, but these blokes have made all my travel so much better! Thanks Bastian and Grumps.
My favourite people at IDF2019? The two baristas running this uber-hipster coffee van.
We were all surprised to see the room packed full at 8.30am on the last day of the Congress. Sex sells. Or people just want to talk about it…
One of the best pieces of advice I was ever give was this: surround yourself with smart women. This is the LWD stream from IDF2019. I truly was surrounded by the smartest of women! Thank you Sana, Pei Yan and Elizabeth.
The final session in the LWD and my highlight of the whole congress was my neighbour, Sol, talking about living with MODY 3. We could not have scripted a closing remark better than his: ‘Being at this conference has made me feel part of something and with people that understand.’ Welcome to the world of diabetes peer support, Sol. You are so, so very welcome here.
DISCLOSURE
I was the Chair of the Living with Diabetes Stream at the IDF Congress in Busan. My flights to Busan were covered by Ascensia Global (in order for me to get to Busan in time to co-facilitate their Social Media Summit). Flights home and accommodation were covered by the IDF.
Diabetes is a big deal. Most people living with diabetes can talk to that. But are there ways that we can reduce its impact in small ways that may just add up to something meaningful?
I was thinking about this when I saw Dana Lewis tweet an update from her most recent travels. She does this often – a photo and a comment as she has breezed through security, and I love that she does. Dispelling myths that travel with diabetes has to be a logistical nightmare involving routine strip searches and confiscation of devices is only a good thing, and hopefully will show that diabetes shouldn’t be a reason to delay a trip somewhere.
I’ve made it no big deal by never declaring that I have diabetes or that I am carrying diabetes kit, because why the hell draw attention to something unless necessary? If, for any reason, an alarm sounds, or I get asked about what I’m wearing or carrying, I have a clear, polite, stock standard response that usually does the trick.
That doesn’t mean that travel is never going to involve diabetes-related questions, but there are certainly ways that can minimise just how much of an issue it all is – or even stop it starting to begin with! Dozens and dozens of flights, more security check points than I care to think about … and the times there was an issue can be counted on one hand. No big deal.
The longer you live with diabetes, the better you are at finding shortcuts to make life easier. And reducing just how big a deal every day occurrences are is one way to do just that.
For example, being weighed at diabetes consultations (in fact, most consultations) is a no-no for me. I’ve made it clear to my endo why I don’t want to be, the circumstances under which I will agree to it, and why I find it difficult.
By the way – I know that being weighed is actually a big deal for a lot of people, me included. There’s a lot tied up in stepping on scales. I’m certainly not trying to minimise the minefield that is weight and being weighed. I am just trying to explain how I have been able to remove a lot of the angst just by doing something simple and being clear about my wishes.
Apart from a few times where I have had to repeat my position more than once, it’s never been a problem. It’s actually interesting how HCPs respond when you ask why they need to do something. ‘We need it for our records,’ is never a good enough reason for anything as far as I’m concerned – certainly not how much I weigh.
I get the position of privilege I am coming from here, by the way. I know that I am assertive enough to state what I want and expect, back it up if necessary, and having that confidence means I find it easier to navigate the often treacherous waters of diabetes and getting what I want. I am comfortable saying no and holding my ground, and I can’t remember the last time that wasn’t the case.
Diabetes is a huge deal, so working out ways to make things a little less big makes sense to me. I don’t have the time, inclination or energy to waste on things that really can be minimised. What is important and a big deal (or what isn’t) for me, will be different for others, but I do wonder if sometimes we make more out of things that we really don’t need to. Because, really, sometimes it’s good to shrug our shoulders and just think ‘no big deal’.
#TravelWithDiabetes – no big deal
Last Thursday morning, still wracked (and wrecked) with jet lag from having just returned from ten days in Europe, I boarded a flight to Manila. I would be co-facilitating a workshop for people with diabetes from across the Philippines about how advocacy, community and engagement. If I’m completely honest, I had no idea what was in store for me.
I knew that the PWD who would be attending had all been through a diabetes camps program in the Philippines. They were all young and very eager to step up as advocates. They were the reason the workshop was happening – they realised it was time to elevate the PWD voice in advocacy efforts in their country and they wanted some help in doing just that.
And so, the idea of a workshop was conceived, and the two facilitators were flown in from opposite sides of the planet to pull it all together. Enter me and the Grumpy Pumper (who for once had to travel further than me and was more jet lagged than me).
As the facilitators, we were there to talk about some examples of effective grass roots advocacy, talk about how engagement with other stakeholders is important, and highlight just why the voice of those living with diabetes is critical when it comes to lobbying. We had an vague outline of just how we thought the workshop would run, but we really wanted to ensure that the attendees could shape it the way they wanted, asking relevant questions and walking away with information that would help them.
Once the workshop started, it was very, very quickly apparent that we already had a thriving, dynamic and enthusiastic community in the room. They just weren’t seeing themselves that way. Over the course of the workshop, we saw the ten PWD realise that their own stories and voices are important and have real currency, and they are an unstoppable force when they came together. If ever I needed a reminder of the power of community, I’d have found it there in that room in Manila!
There will be a lot more about the weekend workshop in coming days. I’m still getting my head around it all and am not really sure what to write just yet. It may take me some time. What I do know is that the DOC now has some new voices. Their perspectives will be different to those we often hear about, and that diversity is always good in a community.
So, while I’m getting my words together, get to know these amazing young advocates. They’re on Facebook here; Twitter here; and Instagram here.
DISCLOSURES
Novo Nordisk covered costs for the advocacy workshop. Grumps and I were invited to facilitate the workshop as part of our involvement in the Novo Nordisk DEEP Program. Novo covered by flights, accommodation and ground transfers.
Diabetogenic 