Diabetogenic

Outsourcing diabetes

July 4, 2018 in Diabetes, Real life, technology, Wellbeing | 2 comments

I am a master outsourcer. I outsource as much as I possibly can – from cleaning our home, doing our garden, washing the car and grooming our dogs. I used to feel guilty about this. Then I realised that doing these sorts of things make me irritable and bad-tempered, and it’s better for everyone – mostly and especially me – to just get someone in to do them so I don’t need to a) do them myself and b) get shitty because they are not getting done. (I should add that Aaron feels exactly the same way. He has no desire to do any of those things either, so the outsourcing is a joint decision and one that makes for a far more harmonious home.)

The other day, a new outsourcing device made its way into our home. Despite having someone frequently come and give our place a thorough clean, three dogs and a cat make for grotty floors. Most days, the timber floorboards need a quick going over to gather the dust bunnies and pet hair that collects in corners. Not anymore! This little helper is going to take care of that from now on!

Outsourcing makes sense. And as I have become older, wiser – and some may say lazier – I continue to look for ways to help with the more mundane things in life.

Hello, diabetes…

Many years ago when my diabetes – and I – were not in a great place, I mentioned to an endocrinologist (not my current endo), that I was so overwhelmed by, and over diabetes and I wished that there was a way that someone could do it for me for a week or so. ‘You can’t outsource your diabetes to me,’ she snapped. I’d not suggested her being the one to step in and take over, but she was adamant that it wasn’t going to happen – just in case I was considering asking. (She was promptly sacked after that comment.)

I frequently hear people (myself included) say that the most relentless thing about living with diabetes is not being able to take a holiday from it. It’s true. Even if you have someone helping with caring duties, the toll of having this unwelcome visitor using your body as a guesthouse is unyielding. And even when we manage to find a way to share the load, (for example, partners doing night-time glucose checks, or being responsible for keeping hypo stores replenished, or scheduling HCP appointments, or making sure that insulin prescriptions, glucose strips, pump consumables, sensors etc. are all ready and available at home), there is no sharing or removing the load of the emotional toll of having diabetes.

So with all this in mind, I was a little surprised to hear myself say that I had ‘outsourced my diabetes’ when, at a recent presentation I was giving, a HCP asked me about Loop. I’ve been thinking about that comment quite a lot since I made it. Is it really accurate an accurate thing to say.

I guess that to an extent, it is partially true. I spend less time thinking about diabetes and less time ‘doing’ diabetes. Loop takes over a lot of the things I used to do. This was reiterated in Justin Walker’s talk at Diabetes Mine’s DData Exchange event on day one of ADA last week.

Loop doesn’t make diabetes go away. It doesn’t even take away all the tasks – I still am responsible for making sure that my pump cartridge is loaded, cannula is in working order, sensor is reading. But thanks to the automation, it does take away some of the responsibilities. I guess that the reduced burden comes from the positive results I see every time I look at my Loop app – jut knowing that it is doing its thing and will let me know if something is wrong – takes away some of what I once had to do myself.

Outsourcing is about sharing the load. It’s about handballing some of the tasks and responsibilities of life to someone – or something – else. Loop is the very definition of that!

Old and new

July 3, 2018 in Devices, Diabetes, Pumps, technology | 6 comments

Our home was built in 1913. It’s a beautiful Edwardian house with a ridiculously high peeked roof and gorgeous ornate features.

I love that although the house still has all its beautiful old world character, it has modern touches that make living in it in the 21^stcentury much easier and far more comfortable than when the house was first built.

I have no interest in living the way the original inhabitants of our home lived. I like knowing that when I walk into the house after work today the hydronic heating will have been programmed to have switched on half an hour earlier to take the chill out of the air. I love that the Aga stove is still nestled into a corner of the kitchen, but the fan forced oven on the other side of the room takes no time to heat up for when I want to bake a batch of brownies. (Or these blondies which I made a couple of weeks ago, and are my new favourite 10 minute bake up!) I love that hanging from the pressed metal ceilings are electric lights that switch on and off as needed.

I am more than happy to give a nod to the old, and admire its loveliness. But I don’t want or need to live that way.

Period features galore.

It’s how I feel about diabetes. I can only imagine what diabetes was like many years before I was diagnosed. But I have no desire to sharpen needles, boil syringes or pee on sticks and analyse the colour that appears after ten minutes to give me a not-especially-accurate idea of how much glucose is floating around in there.

And yet, in most cases, people with diabetes are asked to step back in time with older management options before we earn the right to use newer management techniques. We are told this is done so that we understand the basics. Or have a back-up plan if things go wrong. But surely there is a way we can tick those boxes while still being able to utilise the technologies we choose to use – even the newer ones.

If I were newly diagnosed today, I would want to go straight onto an insulin pump and CGM. Obviously, I would need to learn to do blood glucose checks because CGMs in Australia need calibrating. That should simply be part of the training. And yes, I’d need a back-up plan in case my pump stopped working, but again, providing basic information about how to do an injection and insulin doses could also be part of that training – and repeated at follow up visits.

Why should we have to learn how to use old methods of treatment when there are newer methods that might suit us better?

The other day, my daughter asked me how she would manage diabetes if she was diagnosed. (Her question was the prompt for this post.) After I remembered to breathe again, I suggested that it would be up to her and that I’d support whatever she chose. ‘I’d want to Loop,’ she said. ‘I see how you are and I think that’s what I’d want, too.’

I thought about it and realised that most – all? – people who are newly diagnosed are put on MDI and BG monitoring, and I thought that there is no way that I would want that to be the only option offered to my kid if she were diagnosed. It seems archaic to me.

I would want all the options presented to us, including the ones we’re told we have to earn our stripes for before we are allowed to use them.

Now obviously, I’m coming from this with the perspective of someone who is not new to diabetes. Twenty years of living with diabetes under my belt, a job at a diabetes organisation and a career in diabetes activism and advocacy means that I would be far more in the picture than someone who is completely new to diabetes. I totally get that. But I also know that I think everyone diagnosed with diabetes should have access to the latest and greatest if that’s what would be right for them.

But why can’t that initial training be inclusive of back up plans?

Also, I do wonder if we are setting ourselves up and falsely believing that by having our back-up plans we are all sorted in case of emergency. I have not had a pump break in over seventeen years. I guess I’d be fine doing an injection, but apart from probably half a dozen times where I have injected to bring down a stubborn high, I’ve not had to use a syringe or pen. My back-up plan of long-acting insulin frequently is out of date. How confident would I be if my pump died this afternoon and I needed to go back on MDI for a few days? Not especially confident, I have to say, even though I know how to do an injection. (For the record, I have a spare pump. So MDI is actually the back-up plan for my back-up plan.)

This is just another one of those ‘it’s about choice’ situations. At ADA last week, I attended a CGM update. (Two things to note about this session. Firstly, it is held at 5.30am and I was there at kick off. Secondly, the coffee was shit and I was seriously feeling grumpy. But despite that, I managed to pay attention and hear what the speakers had to say.) Viral Shah MD in his presentation encouraged the use of CGM from diagnosis of type 1 diabetes (with a strong caveat of it must be up to the PWD to make that decision).

And one final point: CGM is not new technology. Neither is pump therapy. These are established, well-researched and safe technologies that have been around for a number of years. So why are they not offered as first line treatments?

Splintered

June 28, 2018 in Diabetes, Peer support, Social media | 7 comments

The diabetes online community is big place. It is a global network of many, many people, living many, many diabetes lives, with many, many experiences. Those experiences colour and shape the way we react to certain situations and help to focus our attentions on issues that become our ‘thing’. For some, that may simply be to find and/or offer support from and to others walking the same path. Reducing isolation is one reason that people feel that online support is so powerful, as boarders (of all sorts) melt away.

I have sought great solace in the community many times. This community has seen me through diabetes issues where I have felt lost, hopeless and terrified; they have supported me through times of personal anguish; they have cheered for me when I’ve done something worth celebrating. And they have had my back, shining a light for me until I was able to hold it up myself again to get out of the black tunnel that had engulfed me.

I first joined Twitter back in 2009, but it was in 2011 that I first started to really reach out and connect. It was participating in DSMA chats that first exposed me to the global online community and I was astounded. I truly had no idea that people existed who were genuinely there to support others in truly selfless ways. That support meant different things to different people and was offered in different ways. For some people – well one person – it was starting DSMA and not only asking questions each week as we all came together to share our experiences about a variety of topics but providing a listening ear and helping hand outside that hour of power. For others, it was jumping in when they could to respond to a question, or virtually high five a diabetes victory.

To me, it truly felt like a cocoon of people who were there to do good.

I am not naive enough to think for a moment that it was always perfect or that everyone there was always unflawed. There were the occasional flashes of heat, with disagreements not always being as respectful as they could be. But by and large, I felt that people’s differences were respected.

This community has always been good at outrage. The first time I ever wrote about it was when an Australian comedian misfired a joke about diabetes. I know that this wasn’t the first time the community had used its collective and loud voice to shoot someone down for saying something stigmatising about diabetes, but it was the first time I saw it in such a quick and almost coordinated manner.

But over the years, it seems to happen more and more – perhaps because more and more people have started using online platforms. Or maybe it is because we are getting tired of being the punchline to every poor joke about the latest Starbucks sugary concoction.

Somehow, though, that outrage has turned itself inwards. While many people in the community (and I count myself in there) are spring-loaded and ready to go if someone without diabetes attacks ‘my people’ (i.e. people with diabetes), it seems that these days, a lot of the outrage is directed within the community.

I see that in particular groups: it’s no secret that the first thing that comes to my mind is the LCHF movement, and those within it who believe that the best way to deal anyone not subscribing to their way of eating is to attack, attack, attack. But it would be unfair to suggest that this group has militant outrage all to themselves.

There are also some who are doing work that is genuinely important and critical in supporting those less fortunate, but as they go about their efforts, have become attacking and openly negative about other groups aiming for similar outcomes, but who are choosing to do it in different ways.

But that’s not the only thing that people seem to be antsy about. I’ve had people have a go at me for my decision to use Loop. I’ve seen people choosing not to use CGM be told they’re being irresponsible. I’ve seen people who work with industry – device and pharma companies – be shot down and told THEY are part of the problem when it comes to access to technology and drugs because they are being bought by Big Pharma. I call bullshit on all of, and wish that everyone could remember that there is more than one way to skin diabetes advocacy. (Ugh – that sounds really unpleasant.)

This week while at ADA, I saw one of the people who I have always considered to be a – if not THE – shining light of inclusion (and certainly one of the first people to welcome me into the community) have her integrity publicly questioned. I am, of course, talking about Cherise Shockley. As it turned out, I was sitting next to Cherise as this unfolded, and her calm composure put to shame the rage that was building within me. My trigger finger was itching to fire, but instead, I took deep breaths and waited.

Without going into all the tedious details, Cherise was being accused of not being transparent during a DSMA chat she had moderated a few years ago, the transcript of which was later used in some academic research. Cherise had, of course, disclosed this at the beginning of the chat. At dinner the other night, she sat there until she found the tweet that showed the disclosure, but by the time she shared it online, more and more people had jumped on the outrage bandwagon, joining the choir of accusers. Had any one of these people taken the time to search through Twitter, they would have found the tweet Cherise later shared.

But that’s not how we play in the outrage playground: we just jump on the merry-go-round with everyone else and get faster and faster and faster until the situation is either forgotten (after all, there will be something else to be outraged about tomorrow), or, as in this case, the outrage is shown to be completely unwarranted.

I waited for apologies to follow. They didn’t come. At least, not immediately, and then I decided to stop following what was going on because all I cared about right then was that my friend – a woman I love, who has looked out for and checked in on me more times than I could count – was okay.

I love this community. I have stood up at international conferences and gushed about the value of community, I have written about it and been involved in research about it to help build the evidence base for it, because I truly believe in it. But there are times – increasingly – that I feel I need a time out. And I hate that. Because I need this community: if you are part of this community, I need you.

There is a person at the other end of that Twitter handle, or Facebook profile. It’s easy to forget that sometimes. I don’t know anyone in the community who is actively involved in activism and advocacy who isn’t trying to improve things for people with diabetes. It may not be the way you would do it, it may not be the focus you have, it may not be through partnerships you would encourage.

But that’s okay. Many different approaches are fine. But let’s respect the way we choose to do that. Is it too simplistic to suggest that really, we just need to go back to remembering to be kind? Maybe. Probably. But without any other solutions that I can think of, that’s all I have. Be kind. Always, be kind.

It starts early

June 19, 2018 in Communication, Diabetes, Diagnosis, Healthcare team, Real life | 3 comments

I met someone the other day – a friend of a friend – who had recently been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes.

Within the first 15 minutes of our casual conversation standing in the street as the Saturday morning rush happened around us, I heard these words from their mouth:

‘It’s my own fault. I should have gone to the doctor sooner.’

‘I am not a good diabetic at all.’

‘I am doing a really bad job checking my bloods.’

‘I’m not sure how long I need to keep checking my bloods. Or how often, really.’

‘I was told if I didn’t look after myself I’d need injections. I’m terrified of needles.’

‘I have a list of foods that I should and shouldn’t eat.’

‘I’ve never been sick before. And now I feel as though people think I am sick. But I feel fine.’

‘The doctor said I don’t have diabetes too badly, but then told me all the things that could go wrong.’

‘I am scared. I don’t know anything about diabetes, but I am scared that I am going to go blind. I was told that’s what would happen.’

Here was an incredibly confident, capable and clear thinking person, not much older than me. Until now, their contact with HCPs had involved annual flu jabs (kudos for that!) and a trip to the GP for the occasional virus. They told me they’d never spent a night in hospital.

The diabetes diagnosis came about after their GP suggested routine blood checks on the day they went in for their flu shot. The following week, they were told they had diabetes. This was just last week. So far, this person had spent about fifteen minutes with their GP and 45 minutes with the diabetes educator who works out of the clinic.

And look at how diabetes has been presented in that time. Already, this person feels as though they are a ‘bad diabetic’ and failing in their treatment. And they are scared.

I responded to some of those comments gently:

‘You DID go to the doctor – for your flu shot. And when they suggested you have a blood check, you did it there and then.’

‘You are doing a great job. There is no such thing as a bad person with diabetes. We do the best we can with the information at hand.’

‘This is all new. You are checking your blood sugar and that’s amazing. Well done. You didn’t have to even think about that two weeks ago!’

‘Do you have a follow up appointment? When you go back, as why you are being asked to check at the times they’ve suggested. And if this is something you’ll need to do for the next week…or month…or longer.‘

‘It’s perfectly understandable to be afraid of needles. I don’t know anyone who likes them. And you may need insulin one day. But not yet. And if you do, that’s not because you have failed. It’s because diabetes needs to be treated and sometimes with type 2 diabetes, (and always with type 1 diabetes) insulin is that treatment.’

‘Have you been referred to a dietitian? It’s really hard to change the foods you’re eating if you’re not sure about diet. Ask for a referral.’

‘I don’t really think of having diabetes as ‘being sick’, so I understand what you mean. But you will need to think about your health differently. That doesn’t make you a sick person, though.’

‘It’s perfectly, perfectly understandable to feel scared. If you think that having a chat with a psychologist or counsellor will help with that, ask your GP.’

‘Also … find some other people with diabetes and talk with them. Here’s my number. Call me any time.’

Imagine, if instead of feeling the way they were feeling, this person felt empowered, confident and assured – even if there was a bit of fear and uncertainty in there.

On the day we are diagnosed, we walk into the GP’s surgery not having diabetes. And walk out with a diagnosis.

It starts early. Those messages at diagnosis can impact how we feel about our diabetes for a very long times – indeed the rest of our lives.

Every time

June 15, 2018 in Diabetes, Peer support, Real life | 2 comments

It never fails to surprise me – that instant connection you make with a diabetes peer.

Today, I had the pleasure of meeting Amira who has lived with type 1 for over 20 years. I flew to Sydney to oversee some filming for a work-related project, and Amira was being interviewed.

I listened to her tell her diabetes story (one I really hope she will write about for here!) and afterwards, we had a coffee and chatted. And there it was: that connection that goes far beyond our lazy beta cells, and far beyond both being diagnosed around Easter.

Amira is one of those dynamic, passionate, smart and funny people who helps to make the lives of people with diabetes better. I listened as she explained to me how she works with people with diabetes and instantly I knew she was one of those people I would want as part of my HCP team.

We spoke about every day things that I would speak with any other woman about. But diabetes adds layers and complexities and frustrations and fears. We nodded at each other as we shared those thoughts. Because they resonated straight away. And I was reminded again: the power of peers. That connection of diabetes that goes so deep that it must somehow be built into the DNA of those first encounters.

A new diabetes buddy makes for a good day. Today was a good day!

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday – Mood

June 13, 2018 in Diabetes, Real life | Leave a comment

Today’s mood:

…Of course this tee is from the awesome Casualty Girl, and you can get your very own by clicking here. (Not sponsored – I happily purchased this myself!)

The latest in language and diabetes

June 12, 2018 in Communication, Diabetes, Healthcare team, Language, Real life | 1 comment

Diabetes Week kicked off in the UK yesterday with the launch of their very own Language Guidance statement. Well done to all involved. It’s great to see another language document joining the movement started by Diabetes Australia back in 2011, and added to in recent years by the ADA and AADE (who presented their Guidance Statement last year), diaTribe Foundation (who has written extensively on the issue) and the Team Novo Nordisk (who developed a great guide for media reporting on the team.) And now, it’s great to see the UK on board, too.

Click to read the new UK Diabetes Language Matters guide.

In Australia, it’s been wonderful to see just how widely our statement has been used. Conference organisers have embraced the Diabetes Australia statement, including it in speaker packs, encouraging presenters to align their talks with the document. (The table which offers suggestions for words and phrases that can be problematic is a very useful reference tool.)

I can still remember the launch of the Diabetes Australia statement. It was at the State Library of Victoria which played to my word and book nerdiness almost perfectly. There could not have been a better setting for a media launch about words, language and diabetes.

Little did we know back then just how significant or far-reaching this document would be. At first, we were met with a lot of resistance, and people thinking that it was political correctness gone slightly mad. But we persevered and made sure that we were clear why this work was necessary.

I remember sitting in talks given by HCPs and flinching constantly as judgemental and stigmatising language was considered appropriate. Now, in Australia at least, it is startling when someone uses words such as non-compliant, because the ongoing, constant and committed efforts by many have completely changed the way that the words are used when speaking about and to people with diabetes.

While the official statement was launched seven years ago, the impact language and words have on diabetes was not a new area of discussion. People with diabetes have been talking and writing about how significant the (positive and negative) impact of words can be. I remember seeing discussions about it on the Reality Check forum not long after I was diagnosed, and speaking about it at events we ran back when the consumer program started at Diabetes Victoria in the early 2000s. We knew that words had power. We just needed to bring everyone on the ride with us to get them to understand it too.

And that’s why the Diabetes Australia statement – and all those that have come since – are so important. They provide a framework to refer to; something to hold up as an example of how things could be better.

Even though there has been a lot written and spoken a great deal about language and diabetes over the last seven years, we’re not finished. This is not a static movement. No one can for a moment think that we have ‘done’ language; there will always be new and different things to consider. Some particular areas of interest to me in recent times include the language we use when talking about hypos. And how we reframe the way we talk about diabetes complications.

I wrote this piece after the ADA Annual Scientific Meeting last year when I realised that we need to keep moving forward because there is still much to be done.

But while we do that, I believe it is important that we never deviate from the intention of the language matters movement. It is not about dictating to people with diabetes the words we can and cannot use when talking about our own diabetes, or criticising the words we choose to use. It is about framing the way people speak to and about those of us living with diabetes, and encouraging the use of language that is inclusive, engaging, non-judgemental, destigmatising and respectful. It is about using words that make us feel empowered, positive, hopeful.

Fundamentally, it is about making things better for us.

What’s next?

June 8, 2018 in Communication, Complications, Diabetes, Real life | 3 comments

‘No one asks to get diabetes. And no one asks to be diagnosed with a diabetes complication.’

I don’t know how many times I have said these words – in presentations, casual conversations, in meetings. I feel like a broken record sometimes, but it seems that I’m not done saying it because there are still real problems with the way we talk about a type 2 diabetes or diabetes-related complications diagnosis.

Both are discussed as an end point. And often an end point following failure which is so problematic that it makes every single part of me wince.

‘You got type 2 diabetes because you did/didn’t do this, this and this….’

‘You developed a diabetes-related complication because you did/didn’t do this, this and this.’

And then…there is nothing. There is nothing about what happens next: who to turn to, what help is available, ways to live well. Just some blame and shame and a massive spoonful of guilt, too. You’re welcome!

We need to change this. How different would things be if news of a type 2 diabetes or complication diagnosis was not accompanied with finger pointing at all the things that got us to that point, but instead an acknowledgement that this may feel scary, and a helpful list of what is available to help us.

Being diagnosed with type 2 diabetes is not an end point. Neither is being diagnosed with a diabetes complication. It’s a transition. And at that transition point, we need hope. And to know what’s next. (Cue: Snuffy Walden.)

You do you

June 6, 2018 in Diabetes, DOC, Real life | 10 comments

Pumps. Pens. Syringes.

Patch pump. Pod.

Share your data. Don’t share your data.

Blood glucose monitors. Continuous glucose monitors. Flash glucose monitors.

Low carb. High carb. Low(er) carb. No carb. ALL the carbs.

Private diabetes team. Public clinic.

#WeAreNotWaiting. #WeAreWaiting.

Apps for recording data. Scribbling down numbers on the back of an envelope. Making up numbers as you go along.

Online peer support. Face to face peer support. No peer support.

How fortunate we are to have choices – to have choices we can make for ourselves for our own brand of diabetes.

I’m feeling a little burnt out at the moment by the zealots online who think it’s their way or the highway. Do what works for you and share it, by all means. But attacking someone else for doing something different is just being a dick. Don’t be a dick. There’s really no need.

People with diabetes make the best teachers

June 5, 2018 in Devices, Diabetes, Healthcare team, Real life, technology | 5 comments

On Saturday, I had the pleasure of attending the Australia Diabetes Society’s (ADS) annual Insulin Pump and CGM Workshop. I’d been invited along another ten or so people with diabetes who already wear CGM or Libre to share our insights into living with and wearing sensing devices.

(Quick shout out to the ADS. For those who don’t know, the ADS is the professional body for endos in Australia. Over the last few years, their leadership team has been absolutely instrumental in finding ways to better include PWD in what they are doing. As an organisation, they have been innovative, and responsible for ground-breaking initiatives such as the Enhancing Consulting Skills resource. We need our professional bodies to be like this. And we need them to work with us so that we can provide our perspective to the work they are doing.)

The idea of the workshop is for endocrinologists to have hands on experience of the technology rather than just what they see and are taught at industry events. (For the record, the industry events are super important because they are an opportunity to learn about the shiny technical side of things. And get branded pens. Pens are awesome.)

Discussion was the focus of this session. There was no long presentation with people taking notes. Instead, we were asked to sit at tables with endocrinologists, and encouraged to share our the real life experience of wearing the technology.

Now, I don’t know about you, but this is always the way I want to learn and to share information. I seem to get annoyed at sessions when I have someone speaking at me for ages, telling me what they think I need to know. I much prefer to have discussions and watch conversations go off on tangents, providing attendees with the details and information that is relevant to them; that they will be able to take home with them and put into practise.

The thing about having PWD in the room is that we have a tendency to hold little back. My friend Jodie and I were at the same table. We both wear Dexcom, but our experiences are quite different. (Or as I put it: ‘She does what she’s meant to. I don’t’.) This was actually a master stroke, because it showed the endos just how varied our experiences can be. And that while what works for one person may not necessarily work for another, there really may not be a ‘right’ way to do things.

Jodie and I demonstrated putting in new sensors so that the endos could see how the actual insertion works. We talked about using an alcohol swab where we were about to site our sensor (in this case, I was the one following the instructions I’d been taught when I first started using CGM. ‘ Yeah…I can’t be bothered,’ said Jodie and I wanted to high five her and welcome her to the dark side of non-compliance.)

There was one endo at our table who was pressing every single one of my ‘OH-YES-LET’S-TALK-ABOUT-THAT’ buttons, and the first thing she said when we removed the sensor from the packaging was ‘Why is there so much waste in there?’

We spoke about the fact that current Dex sensors don’t have reusable inserting devices and that really, the companies could perhaps do a little more to find ways to reduce waste, while continuing to produce a sterile product. (The G6 apparently has addressed this…)

At one point, the Dexcom rep. mentioned the share function on the G5, and as if by magic, my new favourite endo jumped in with ‘Who makes the decision as to whether or not their data is shared.’ I wanted to hug her, but it was the first time we’d met and I thought that might be a little creepy. But yes; oh yes! We were going to talk about consent.

The absolute best thing for me was that not once as I shared by clearly (and absolutely owned) deliberately non-compliant CGM existence, did one of the endos look at me with disdain, shake their head, raise an eyebrow or tut tut. They asked how what I did made things better for me.

Some examples of questions and my answers:

Why do you wear the sensor on your arm and not your stomach?

I find it more comfortable and it reads more accurately. Plus, it lasts longer there than on my tummy.

Why do you restart the sensor?

Because I’m frugal and don’t want to fork out $90 every seven days when I know it works perfectly well for me still at 21 days

Look, the Dex reps should turn away right now, block their ears and pretend that they don’t understand me, because I am going to be really candid about this. Firstly, I am going to say that I adore this product. I would say that no matter who is in the room – I’m not sucking up to the AMSL reps because I’m hoping they’ll throw some free product my way. They don’t and that’s fine. I mean it. This is a brilliant product that I literally trust with my life. But there are some things that piss me off…

Sensors are around the $90 mark. They are approved for use for seven days. But at the end of those seven days, the sensor is still working perfectly. In fact, many people report that it works even better after the first week. Why should I throw out a perfectly good, working product if it is still doing what it says on the box?

I know the risks. I am choosing to do this myself and I am more than happy to own it.

But while we’re on this topic. The transmitter is AUD$540 every three months. That’s right, after three months, it stops working. The batteries are still good to go for a couple of months, but the device is factory set to stop working. Now, this has been done with a whole lot of safety considerations in mind and I understand those. But again, a device that is not rechargeable and still has some use in it has to be thrown out.

So, I don’t really have any qualms about using all sorts of DIY solutions that allow for the transmitter life to be extended.

I’ll say it again – I know the risks. This is about me and no one else. I am happy to take those risks.

So, you don’t calibrate it as recommended. Why?

Because sometimes, stopping whatever I am doing to calibrate is not something I want to do. Plus I’ve been wearing this for over 2 years now and I’ve learnt what to trust and what not to trust and how to use it safely. I have set my own boundaries that I feel are acceptable and perfectly safe.

Do the alarms bother you?

They used to. But now I’ve managed to customise them to a way that works for me. I have all the alarms on now, but in the past, I had all the high alerts and alarms disabled because they pissed me off so much. But the predictability of Loop means that the alarms are rare and I generally I have the headspace to respond to them as they happen. (Although the please calibrate one can drive me nuts sometimes.)

Do you share your CGM data?

I have in the past, but I don’t these days. As an adult with diabetes, I make that decision and there have been times when I’ve liked the idea of someone having my back – usually when I’ve been travelling solo. But since I’ve been looping there has been no need.

What’s Loop?

Um…we’re going to need a longer session… Here’s the address to my blog. Sorry for all the swearing.

After the event, the event organiser sent me a lovely text message, thanking me for my time and for speaking at the Workshop. She said that the CGM session was a highlight for many of the attendees. ‘People with diabetes make the best teachers,’ she added. And she’s right. When we are talking about what it’s like to actually live with these device on our bodies and in our everyday life, we really are the best people to talk about it! HCPs are great at talking about the science and the clinical side of things. But we make diabetes real because we are living it. You can only get that when you go straight to the source. And yes; we’re the source.

Disclosure

The ADS provided me with a $50 gift voucher to thank me for my time on Saturday. I was also given one Dexcom sensor to insert at the Workshop which I am still wearing. (And will do so for the next three weeks or so…)