Diabetogenic

Living with diabetes is not always a solo exercise. At times, I wonder how it impacts on those around me. I asked my friend and colleague Michael about this last week. We work together every day and while we rarely (if ever) talk about my life with diabetes, he does see me managing things the way I do. These are his thoughts….

Michael. Sans hat.

As a Director at Diabetes Australia – Vic, I have to deal with many different types of relationships, each requiring one of my many hats. (Ed. note: It’s true – he does wear hats around the office. Literally.) I work in an office dominated by very smart women and often find myself putting my foot in my mouth more than once or twice a day. This is no exception with Renza. (Ed. note: Yep!) Renza is a good friend, and the only real friend I have who is living with a chronic health condition. Throughout the life of our three year friendship (is that how long I have been working here?!) I have often found it difficult to decide on the appropriate level of support she needs from me.

I believe in natural justice – when something is wrong, all my sympathetic, problem-solving (buffoon male) triggers start coming alive. There have been times when I know Renza is hypo and I literally have to stop myself in my tracks to think, ‘Is that what she really wants, my sympathy?’ And the answer is no. Renza is a strong and confident woman who can handle anything that comes her way and she needs my sympathy about as much as she needs a bag of old potatoes.

What I have to remember is that, like many other people living with diabetes, Renza benefits more from my empathy than anything else. Simple understanding and acknowledgement of her condition rather than a patronising helping hand or, even worse, the use of apathy as a scapegoat. Yes, sometimes it’s easier to just outright ignore a topic to avoid your own inner anguish, but that’s just counterproductive (and pathetic)! Sometimes, asking a simple ‘Are you okay today?’ is all it takes.

As a friend of someone with diabetes, I know that diabetes is not a topic to be ignored or to be scared of. Yes, diabetes is a very real and serious. It should be recognised as such, but, at the same time, for Renza it is very manageable. I know this because in my friend is in control of her diabetes – there has never been a day when diabetes has controlled my friend.

Thanks, MG! You can read more from Michael over at the DA-Vic blog. That’s pretty much exactly how I hoped that I come across to others about my attitude towards living with diabetes. So, how do you think others see what your life with diabetes is all about?  

Diabetes Australia is in the running to receive funding from the EFTPOS giveback. Each year, EFTPOS provides funding to charities working with Australian communities.

Can you take a few moments to vote for Disease Prevention, Management and Medical Research, nominating ‘Diabetes Australia’ as your charity of choice?

Voting is easy!

Go to the EFTPOS Giveback site here, and follow the instructions. You can vote by either using your Facebook login or entering your email. All up, it will take three minutes. Remember to vote for Disease Prevention, Management and Medical Research. Don’t forget to write ‘Diabetes Australia’ in the text box.

And once you’ve voted, send the link to everyone you have ever met with the above instructions. It’s good karma folks and will held Diabetes Australia develop an exciting new online platform to help people better manage diabetes.

Disclaimer

I am employed by Diabetes Australia – Vic and also have a National Program Leader position with Diabetes Australia.

I missed No D Day (it was yesterday) so am playing catch up today. It’s a great initiative to get us thinking and writing about things other than diabetes. I hope Ninjabetic doesn’t mind me being a day late.

I’m back in Barcelona, a city I could quite easily call home for no other reason than the sangria. There is a gorgeous relaxed charm here, which I’m sure I see and feel because I am a tourist on holidays with few worries other than where to stop for my next sangria.

Tonight, after a meal of tapas (oh, and sangria) in a tiny bar we headed to the Santa Anna church to hear a classical guitar concert. It was a performance by husband and wife duo Joan Benejam and Ksenia Axelroyd who call themselves Barcelona Duo de Guitarra. The setting couldn’t have been more perfect – a corner cloister with a vaulted ceiling, lit only by candlelight.

It’s been a long time since I performed as a musician, but I still remember the exposure and vulnerability I’d feel when standing up in front of an audience to play. As the couple played this evening, there was an intimacy between them that was at times almost difficult to watch. They would search each other’s faces for cues, a small smile appearing on their faces. A couple of times their eyes met and they gave each other a secret look.

Their interaction was perfect. Sometimes Ksenia led the way, with Joan in a supporting role; other times it was he who had the melody, her harmony providing the background that allowed him to shine. They negotiated, took turns and looked to each other to make sure they were heading in the same direction. And at the end of each piece, they stood and together took a bow.

Their encore was a four handed guitar performance where they were both playing the same guitar. Their hands and fingers danced across the guitar strings and fingerboard, never getting in the other’s way. They finished and stood up, holding hands while the audience cheered our appreciation.

We spoke with them at the end of the concert, asking them to sign copies of the CDs we bought. We asked about their guitars and Ksenia made a joking comment about how many guitars Joan had. ‘Oh, I can relate to that!’ I said and we both laughed. I wanted to ask her how they managed to work and live together – what happened on stage if they’d had an argument about whose turn it was to take out the garbage? And I wanted to know what those secret looks meant – was it anything more than ‘Hey, we’re sounding great tonight’? But I didn’t.

We thanked them again and said good-bye and walked out of the church’s courtyard, back into the throng of Barcelona at night, the beautiful music still in our heads.

Husband and wife team – Barcelona Due de Guitarra performing in St Anna’s Church.

Spices in the souks.

If you ever want to do some people watching or get an idea about how efficiently a country runs, go to the post office. In Italy, it took Aaron a chaotic hour of being shuffled from window to window to buy stamps to send postcards back home; in Vienna everything is clearly sign-posted and people stand quietly in straight lines waiting their turn.

Today we’re in Marrakech and we’ve been standing in line now for 90 minutes to organise postage back home of an oud (homework: what’s an oud?) purchased in the Souks from a shop endearingly named ‘Bob Magic Music’.

Magic carpets in every possible colour. I wanted one of each, but managed to select two to bring home.

We were told to get to the post office in the morning to avoid queues. I’m not sure what the queues are like during peak periods, but right now it’s crazy. There are makeshift lines, but no one seems too concerned about remaining in one queue. I believe there are five people working behind the counter at the moment, but their commitment to any one queue is also pretty ad hoc. I’m sure that by the end of the day everyone gets what they need, but right now, it looks incredibly disorganised.

So, I’ve had plenty of time to people watch and standing here waiting I’ve wondered, not for the first time, about diabetes in Morocco.

Beautiful views around each bend on our tour of the Atlas Mountains.

Yesterday, we were in the Atlas mountains, eating lunch on the terrace of the house owned by the local imam. At the end of the meal, as we were served mint tea we were asked ‘Sugar okay?’ Aaron and I both nodded. ‘It’s because of diabetes that I ask,’ our tour guide explained. ‘Is there a lot of diabetes here?’ I asked, thinking of all the kids we’d seen playing out on the roads. And I thought of the examples of manual labour that were apparent everywhere here – men dragging carts full of vegetables; woman crouching by water holes washing clothes, goats being herded by old men. There didn’t seem too many opportunities for sitting back and doing nothing.

Our guide mentioned it was becoming a problem in the city, but up in the mountains where most families are self-sufficient and electricity is relatively new in some villages there is limited diabetes.

Last night, back in bustling Marrakech I became aware of the Coca-Cola signs everywhere – in the souks, out in the Jamaa el-Fnaa square, down the tiny alleyways.

I wonder how many people standing in the post office are living with diabetes and how they navigate their healthcare system. I wonder if we share stories of burnout and frustrations at numbers that don’t make sense. I bet we do. Afterall, diabetes is a universal language. 

Down a narrow laneway in the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona is a shoe shop. Obviously, this was on my must-visit list whilst in the city. So with a spare couple of hours after a morning of meetings at the EASD conference, we set off to find it.

After wandering down winding alleyways, making pitstops for tapas and sangria, we found what we were looking for. The shop is tiny with racks of shoes lining the walls. Handbags swing from rails and there are shoes, shoes, shoes everywhere.

The catch is that they only come in one style. Every shoe is a beautifully constructed ballet slipper. But they come in each and every colour and colour combination you can imagine. The shelves look like rainbows with literally thousands of versions of the shoes in a variety of textures, materials and colours. They came in bright and muted colours, glittery, quilted, pony skin, two tone and polka dots.

One shoe; endless colours. As I stood in the middle of this gorgeous jewel of a store in Barcelona, I knew I’d found the perfect analogy.

We may all have a condition called diabetes, but each and every one of us has it in our own special way. While saying ‘I have diabetes’ connects me to a community made up of people from all over the world, my particular brand of diabetes is different to that of everyone else.

I left the store with a couple of pairs of shoes and a handbag. I walked away but turned to catch one last look. And then I realised. I could have bought dozens of different pairs. I loved them all. I wanted them all. They were beautiful, fun, whimsical. Unlike my diabetes.

For the record – if my diabetes was a pair of these shoes, it would be the bright pink glittery pair I didn’t buy, but couldn’t tear my eyes away from.

I’m in Barcelona for the 2nd Animas European Bloggers Summit. Diabetes bloggers from Italy, the UK, Germany and Norway as well as throw ins from the US and Australia have come together to talk about how we use our blogs to communicate with the diabetes online community.

Being surrounded by such an amazing crew of folks with diabetes is energising. Hearing about how we reach people, why we write and the value of peer support reinforces (yet again) the strength of this community.

Disclaimer
The Animas European Bloggers Summit is an initiative of Johnson & Johnson. J&J funded my travel and accommodation so I could attend the Summit as well as my registration to the EASD conference. There was no expectation from J&J that I would write about my attendance. But I will be because I’m a sharer!