Diabetogenic

Bad reporting

October 28, 2015 in Awareness, Diabetes | 4 comments

Yesterday, I wrote about a Facebook post that I came across which I felt was powerful and showed the value of social media and support. I shared that post here.

And yet, with one hand, Facebook giveth; and the other it taketh away.

Because then I came across an article about diabetes that make my blood boil. I clicked on the link (which I reluctantly share here) as I stood waiting to board my flight to Brisbane and actually said ‘Oh, for f*ck’s sake’ out loud, impressing the guy in front of me and earning me a dirty look from the woman standing next to me.

The article is actually from the beginning of the year, however, thankfully, I have somehow managed to avoid it for the last 10 months. But yesterday, there it was. Sprouting misinformation about the health condition I live, most reluctantly, alongside.

I only have myself to blame. What did I expect reading the Daily Mail? Certainly not anything resembling decent journalism. And certainly not something based in fact.

The title of the article was the first thing that had me scoffing: ‘I’m scared to go to sleep’: Mother’s 24/7 struggle to keep her daughter alive as they battle form of diabetes that could kill the 15 year-old in minutes.’ (Emphasis all mine.)

Now I am the first person to say that I certainly don’t know everything about diabetes. I’ve never ever claimed to, but I am pretty sure that there is no form of diabetes that can kill someone in 15 minutes. And yet, according to the article, Grace, the fifteen year old in the article, ‘could die within minutes without insulin injections.’

Again, I am no expert. But I know that fifteen minutes without insulin isn’t going to kill me. Or anyone. Even if I ate a whole pavlova washed down with a bottle of full-strength Coke.

But there was the Daily Mail claiming that death would eventuate if there was a quarter of an hour delay in insulin administration. (This bodes most poorly for me and my ‘shit-I-forgot-to-bolus’ days that seem to plague me when there is something more interesting than pinging insulin into my body.)

Apparently, this form of diabetes was caused when …’the disease caused her immune system to eat her own pancreas…’

I understand the need to use language that makes sense to people when it comes to describing what diabetes is all about. But suggesting that diabetes causes our body to ‘eat’ vital organs is the stuff of horror movies, not autoimmune conditions. Surely, the general public can understand the explanation that ‘type 1 diabetes means the pancreas is no longer able to produce insulin’, or something similar that doesn’t suggest some sort of extraterrestrial being has moved in and is feasting on our insides.

I find articles like this frustrating on a number of levels. It is such a melodramatic and false description of type 1 diabetes that it amazes me that anyone could consider this enlightening or educational in any way whatsoever.

This is a perfect example of misreporting of type 1 diabetes, but the voices of OUTRAGE that accompany the potential confusion of type 1 and type 2 diabetes, or the ‘people don’t understand what it is like’ are missing here, instead many are saying that it is a good representation of what it’s really like. And this confuses me greatly.

Because all I see us an article with a lot of incorrect information.

How anyone could consider this article as anything other than disempowering, stigmatising and downright damaging to those of us living with diabetes is beyond me.

Guest post – The Party

October 27, 2015 in Diabetes, Guest post, Peer support, Real life, Social media | 2 comments

Over the weekend, my Facebook friend, Brad Slaight, shared a story that got me thinking. He summed up perfectly the power of connections and the value of speaking with others sharing our experiences.

I’ve not met Brad. We know each other only through social media. He is a funny guy – in fact pretty much all of his posts make me laugh out loud. You can read all about him, and the ‘Diabetes Hero Squad’ here.

I have read this piece several times and each time I am struck by just how the family in is story would have walked away from their encounter with Brad feeling relief, support, less isolated and less alone. It is how I feel whenever I connect with others living with diabetes.

Brad has kindly given me permission to publish his post here. Thanks, Brad!

I’m always interested in meeting another person with diabetes and after the secret handshake I enjoy listening to their story, their struggles, and their methods of control. Even with strangers it is always an immediate bonding because we are conjoined by a common life threatening, daily maintaining condition that cuts through the awkward veil of trust.

But tonight it was different. I went to a party at a beautiful home in the Pacific Palisades. An upscale community near the ocean with homes that in the Midwest would be expensive, but here in Los Angeles you have to be in the top 1% to own. This party was catered, valeted, and lavish.

I never feel out of place at these kinds of things even though my socio-economic status is not quite on the same level with the majority of the other guests. But since I am in the entertainment business I usually fit right in and can charm my way past any portfolio flaws. Money and power does not always mean personality. I’m pretty gregarious and make friends easily and tonight was no different. Flitting around from one group to another I came upon a stunning couple who looked like they just stepped from the pages of Forbes Magazine. Young Republicans I thought. Well groomed. Fashionable. Rich.
I planned on walking right past them because I saw nothing in common. And then, the woman grabbed my arm.

“You’re Brad, right?” She asked. A wave of paranoia came over me. What had I done? How did she know me? What did she want? I made some lame joke about not being Brad Pitt and she forced a laugh but I could see some unexpected pain in her eyes.

“I don’t mean to be forward,” she continued. (Forward? Who fucking talks like that, I thought to myself) “Shannon told me you have diabetes.”

Oh my God, I’ve been outed. As if I really care. But why was she asking me this? I would have preferred that she said something like, “You’re a comedian, right?” or “I recognize you from TV” or anything else that would be complimentary. I don’t mind people knowing I have diabetes, but it’s not really what I want to be known for?

The next thing that happened completely took me by surprise. She told me that their 7 year old son was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes two weeks ago. This was the first time they had been out of the house at night since then. And they had to force themselves to come to the party even though they wanted to stay home and hover. Immediately they were one of us. Diabetes – the great unifier! They were in the club. I understood their pain and at that moment I also felt it because it hit me in the gut. Seven? Fuck. I was fortunate enough to get it when I was already an adult. Seven!

We talked for the next hour and a half. The rest of the party became an oblivious blur. They listened to me as if I were Yoda as I told them my story and stories of others who I have known from the D.O.C. They hungered for knowledge about diabetes. Where do they go? What do they do? Why did it happen to their precious boy? When will it be cured? How will he deal with this horrible disease? The same questions we all have had, and many that we still do.

I told them about the usual links and sites they should explore. The JDRF, the ADA, TuDiabetes, and others. But what they wanted to hear most was how I’ve survived for 30 years with diabetes. What do I do? How do I manage? Have I gotten any of the terrible complications they’ve been told about? And it was then that I realized how important all of the diabetes online community has been for me. How important it is to not feel so alone. So isolated. And how terrifying this disease is for those who are newly diagnosed and the people who love them, because it changes their life as well. I told them what I could but made sure to remind them that, even though we all share the same disease, we are all different and finding a good endo is key.

Most of all I told them how important it is that they were scared because that means their boy has great parents who will make sure he gets the best care possible. The fear will lead to knowledge, which will lead to the best kind of advocacy of all. And I told them that they need to seek out other parents who have CWD because they too need to understand they do not have to face this all by themselves.

Next week I am going to have dinner at their house and meet their little boy. I won’t tell him about all the technical stuff. In time, he will learn all that for himself, because he will have to. No, what I will talk to him about is that there are many of us. He is not alone. And I will give him an autographed picture of The Diabetes Hero Squad. I will tell him that he is a diabetes superhero. And I will make sure I don’t cry until after I leave.

I went to a party. I found out about another one of us. He’s seven.

We need to find a cure!

Access to health

October 26, 2015 in Food, Real life | 3 comments

With the weather changing, I find myself starting to rethink what we are eating at home. The delicious and warming braises and casseroles that have been a staple of the cooler months are replaced with lighter options such as salads and grilled chicken or steak. The oven is rarely turned on – instead we need to think about buying a barbeque for the back garden so we can grill and eat outside.

My trusted and well used Le Creuset heavy-based casseroles seldom come out from their cupboard. But large salad bowls and platters are on frequent rotation, piled high with lighter food.

Fruit is no longer stewed, instead cut up and eaten fresh. The selection in the fruit bowl and in the fridge moves from mostly citrus and apples and pears, to stone fruits – nectarines, peaches, mangoes. Grapes get popped in the freezer; melons are cut up in Tupperware in the fridge for easy-reach snacks and we start to count down until cherry season hits.

And fruit is also thrown into salads – mango mixed with chicken, avocado, walnuts and rocket; white nectarines sliced and sprinkled over platters of cooled freekah, fresh tomatoes, herbs, artichoke hearts and prosciutto.

If only I had a green thumb, I’d get into planting vegies too. Alas, an overflowing pot of basil is usually all I can manage – meaning an easy meal of fresh pesto stirred through pasta is never more than 10 minutes away!

Mimicking the change of seasons with a change of our menu is one of the most wonderful things about food. It reinvigorates meal planning which can get in a rut and helps keep things interesting. And it’s easy for me – with easy access to farmers’ markets, fresh food stores and the Queen Victoria Market just across the road from work.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently because, as many of you may know, the IDF’s campaign for World Diabetes Day this year centres on healthy eating and, more specifically, access to fresh and healthy foods.

Because the food we eat does impact on the ability to manage our health. And diabetes is part of our health.

Some people with type 1 diabetes are a little pissed off at this message. They are banging the ‘type-1-has-nothing-to-do-with-what-you-eat-and-this-is-mixing-up-the-messages-and-what-I-ate-had-nothing-to-do-with-why-I (-my-child) –got-type-1’ drum and have been annoyed that the IDF is daring to suggest that there is a link between food and the wellbeing of people with type 1 diabetes.

But the food we eat does impact on our diabetes management, something that sometimes does get lost in our ‘but-I-can-eat-anything’ protestations.

Of course we can eat anything. We have tools to help us to do that and to do it safely. We can bolus for the doughnut we choose to eat for lunch, just as easily as we can bolus for the sandwich we eat.

But that’s not the point. No one is saying that. What this campaign is about is how the food we eat contributes to healthy living. We need insulin to survive, tools to manage our BGLs and access to food to treat lows, sustain energy and be healthy.

In just the same way that there are people in some parts of the world who do not have access to insulin or diabetes consumables, there are places where there is no access to affordable, fresh, healthy food. Of course all of this impacts on a person’s ability to live well with diabetes. It impacts on their ability to live well. Full stop.

The IDF is strongly suggesting that healthy eating is a right, not a privilege. And no one can disagree with that. Surely.

Last night – as a last hurrah to pie weather (and the need to use up the leftovers from a roast chook) a final pie was baked. With a little maths-nerd humour thrown in for fun.

Not as smart as the tech

October 23, 2015 in technology | 1 comment

I discreetly signalled to the drinks waiter making his rounds.

‘Would it be possible to have an orange juice, please?’ I asked him quietly. He nodded and returned shortly after with a tall glass.

‘You’re not fun!’ said one of the people I was speaking with at the time. ‘This is way more enjoyable.’ He held up his glass of bubbles.

‘I agree,’ I said to him. ‘And I’ll have one soon. I just need this to get my BGL up. I’m a little low.’ I was actually a lot low, but I had everything in hand, so there was not need to alarm anyone.

‘You’re hypo?’ he asked. ‘Well, what’s the use of that thing if you are hypo?’ He pointed to the CGM sticking out of my arm.

He had a point. Here we were, standing around the Mural room at Parliament House, pleading our case for the value of CGM technology in the management of diabetes.

‘Ah,’ I said to him, smiling. ‘The technology is only as smart as the user. And this user has spent the last half hour running around getting things ready for tonight and ignoring the alerts and alarms on said technology. Clearly, this user is not smart!’ I drank half the juice and gently placed the rest on a table nearby.

And there lies the problem with people’s perception of diabetes technology. It doesn’t fix things; it doesn’t cure our diabetes. It is not a ‘set and forget’ situation where we no longer need to think about our diabetes. Had I been smart, I would have stopped when I first felt the alarm. At that point, I would have changed the basal rate, or temporarily stopped the pump, or had a couple of the glucose tabs that were in my bag.

But instead, I had disregarded it, and the next alarm and the one every three or five minutes, silencing them with a quick push of a button, while in my head, I said ‘In a minute; in a minute.’

In the same way that insulin is not a cure, pumps and CGMs and smart meters are not a cure. They are devices. They make things easier or better or more in line with how we want to live our life. But they are not a cure.

Diabetes technology certainly does make me feel safer. But it is wrong to say that it manages my diabetes. It helps ME manage my diabetes, but it is still all me doing it all.

And when I am ignoring what the tech is telling me, it can’t do its job. I know that. I have known that for the almost-fifteen years I have been using a pump and the over eight that I have been using CGM. These devices are only as ‘smart’ as the user…and sometimes, I am pretty bloody dumb about diabetes!

It’s time to fund CGM

October 22, 2015 in Real life, technology | Leave a comment

I am all about facts. So when writing to the Commonwealth Health Minister, Sussan Ley, asking her to make CGM available to Australians living with type 1 diabetes choosing to use this technology, I left the emotion behind and concentrated on the realities. I can’t say that it has saved my life, because I don’t know that is the case. I do know it makes my life easier, better, happier and healthier. And that has to count for something. This is my letter about my real life with diabetes and how I choose to use CGM. I urge anyone else who believes this technology should be available more broadly to write to the Minister and share your story. My post on the Diabetes Victoria Blog from last week has some tips about what – and how – to write.

_________________________________________

Dear Minister Ley

On Tuesday, I attended an event at Parliament House about type 1 diabetes and new technologies. The aim of the night was to highlight the importance of developing pathways to ensure that new technologies make it onto the Australian market in a timely manner (in the first instance) and, once approved, are available and affordable to as many people as possible.

Unfortunately, you were unable to attend; however, I did spend some time speaking with one of your advisors and shared a little about my experience of using CGM.

This is not new technology. It has been available in Australia for the better part of the last decade. And yet, it is still out of the reach of most people living with diabetes. This needs to change.

Availing this technology to people with type 1 diabetes who want it is well overdue. Please understand, however, there will be a lot of people not interested in using CGM. But it should be a choice for everyone.

I have worn a CGM on and off for the last eight or so years. There are many reasons I don’t use it all the time. Fortunately for me, I can afford the $5,000 or so it takes each year to use CGM. The reasons I don’t use the technology continually include not feeling like I need the constant data feed, or simply not wanting to use the technology all of the time. Sometimes, I feel it won’t benefit my diabetes management.

Other times, however, I wouldn’t be without it. If my BGLs are more variable than usual (such as when I have an infection or am particularly stressed) or if I am travelling alone, having a CGM provide me with information is very important to me. It keeps me safe, it improves how confident I feel about my diabetes and it means that I stay as healthy as I possibly can.

For me, wearing a CGM is not so much about saving my life. It is about living my life the best I possibly can – despite diabetes; it is about being able to identify, react to and remedy impending high or low blood glucose levels; it is about having information that means diabetes impacts far less than it otherwise would.

Minister, we need sensible pathways that ensure diabetes technology is available equitably. But even more so, we need consistent and transparent processes that expedite the release of new and emerging diabetes technologies onto the Australian market.

I am grateful to use CGM alongside my insulin pump. I believe that it has certainly assisted me to live a healthy and productive life. It is not a luxury. It is a necessity in my arsenal of living well with type 1 diabetes – in the same way that insulin, other devices and their consumables, access to healthcare professionals, and support from my friends and family are necessary.

Minister Ley – it is time to make this technology available to any Australian child or adult with type 1 diabetes who chooses to use it.

Thank you

Renza Scibilia

Great Scott!

October 21, 2015 in Diabetes | 1 comment

I’m not really all that upset that I didn’t fly my car to work today, or jump on a hoverboard. I don’t mind that I wasn’t wearing a weird silver hat or tie my shoes using a pair of power laces. It’s okay that the clothes I put on this morning are not self- adjusting. I’m not sad that I am yet to traverse the space-time continuum in a DeLorean (or souped up Fiat 500).

This is how 2015 was imagined in ‘Back to the Future’ back in the mid eighties. The future was full of whizz-bang technology and most of it just didn’t play out as was imagined.

They got it really, really wrong. But that’s kind of okay.

What’s not okay are all the promises and predictions about diabetes being cured. Five years. Ten years. Whatever we have been told – it has all been wrong. Just as wrong as Robert Zemeckis, Doc and Marty McFly.

Visible

October 20, 2015 in Awareness, Diabetes, Real life, technology | 4 comments

‘How’s that working for you?’

‘Sorry?’

I’m at Parliament House in Canberra preparing for a type 1 diabetes and technology event being held later today. Walking through security, three security staff honed in on my upper arm.

‘Your patch, is it doing the trick?’

I was confused. ‘I’m sorry. Excuse me?’

‘Are you an ex-smoker?’

‘Oh! This? It’s not a nicotine patch. It’s a continuous glucose monitor. I have diabetes.’

I don’t know if they believed me. I gathered my bag and moved on through the security area. ‘Diabetes,’ I said again. ‘It checks my blood sugar.’

My invisible illness is pretty visible today.

I made the decision yesterday morning to site my sensor on my upper arm rather than my stomach. The last two sensors I have worn left my skin slightly irritated, so I though I would give the skin around my belly a rest. I also haven’t been thrilled with how long the sensors have lasted – the last two survived a mere 10 and 12 days which is not great when I have been known to get closer to three weeks. (I know, I know, they are meant to work for 7 days. But at over $80 a pop, I do everything in my power to make sure they last as long as bloody possible!)

Before I got to work yesterday morning, three different people had asked what the thing on my arm was. Once I got into the office, another couple of people asked (…don’t even want to remind you all that I work for a diabetes organisation…)

Waiting for a coffee at my local this morning, the barista asked about it and yesterday, at the cafe near work, I could see the people around me looking at my arm and heard them guessing what it was.

At the airport today, a security guard asked if it could be removed and then wanted to engage in a conversation about it, and the woman sitting next to me also asked about it.

It’s been very confronting.

I have never hidden my diabetes. I used to inject at the dinner table before starting pump therapy. And since using a pump, I pull it our from under my clothes to bolus, or see my CGM graph without a second thought. I check my BGL whenever and wherever I want.

But while these diabetes chores occasionally attract a comment, it is nothing like the last two days.

I found myself sitting at lunch today with my right arm cupping the transmitter and sensor to hide it from view. I’ve been cursing the beautiful weather that means I don’t need to wear long sleeves to cover the device. And I’m terrified that people think I am wearing it on my arm to attract attention.

I have always been able to see the pros and cons of having an invisible health condition. Sometimes, the fact that there are no obvious signs of diabetes means that people don’t understand how significant a role it plays in day to day life. But the flip side is that it can be neatly packed away; it can be private. I actually love that about it.

But right now, I don’t have that luxury. Right now it is out, loud and proud for all to see. And I am not comfortable with it at all.

Drop the Jargon

October 19, 2015 in Advocacy, Awareness, Health, Language | 2 comments

Drop the jargon

Tomorrow is Drop the Jargon day here in Australia. According to the campaign website, the aim of the day is … for professionals in Australian health, community services and local government to challenge themselves to use plain language.

People working in the health space are being urged to take a pledge to assist Australians who have low literacy make sense of health information and help them navigate our health system. Six out of ten people in Australia have low health literacy, so there is a real need to make sure our messages and information are presented in a way understandable to everyone.

The pledge asks people to:

Use plain language in all communication
Not use acronyms
Explain medical and other technical terminology
Check that information has been understood by your clients
Work with a professional interpreter when necessary
Politely point out when your colleagues use jargon

Diabetes is a condition rife with jargon. I’ve said before: it is like another language. I am as guilty as anyone when it comes to popping in acronyms, technical terminology and assuming everyone knows what I am talking about.

The website includes a link to a handy Plain Language Thesaurus to assist with finding simpler, clearly and less ‘jango-istic’ words when writing health information.

When considering writing in this manner, a lot of sensitivities and intricacies about different conditions are lost. For example, the thesaurus suggests replacing ‘diabetes’ with ‘elevated sugar in the blood’. (Amusingly, the same document suggests – just a page or two down – to replace ‘elevate’ with ‘raise, lift, make higher’.) Obviously, this doesn’t provide a particularly rounded definition or explanation of diabetes, and those of us who ‘get’ this space and understand the words we use when talking about it could criticise the ‘dumbing down’ of what diabetes is all about.

But think about it. If you were new to the diabetes game – just diagnosed or a family member was just diagnosed – and your health literacy was considered low, then this is probably a good starting point. It is certainly better than ‘a touch of sugar’, which are the words used by some healthcare professionals STILL when telling people what diabetes is.

I guess the dilemma for me – as someone who does a lot of writing about diabetes – is that I know that there are some people who want and need more information. Frequently, I write for people whose health literacy is of a higher standard, and there is a need to write at an appropriate level for this target group too. They want – and are able – to read technical and quite difficult jargon.

But I can never ever assume that is the case for everyone. When writing for this blog, I use language very much the way I speak – whatever comes into my head, thoughts going at a million miles an hour, lots of jargon and, if my hands weren’t flying across the keyboard, they would be flying around the air. It’s not really great for people whose health literacy is not high.

However, when writing for work, I am far more conscious of not doing those things. But I suspect, I am not conscious enough. Which is why I will be taking the pledge, and why I think this is a terrific initiative for those of us working in the health space.

My tribe

October 16, 2015 in Awareness | 5 comments

I’m feeling a little exhausted today. Fatigued. Burnt out. Drained.

People often ask me how I manage to keep diabetes in perspective. As well as living with diabetes, I work for a diabetes organisation. I am a diabetes advocate, travelling the world talking about my experiences of life with diabetes. I talk to a lot of people about their diabetes. That’s a lot of diabetes – much of it not mine.

Most of the time I manage quite well, thank you very much. I am the queen of compartmentalising and I have learnt to leave work stuff at the office. I turn away from online conversations that annoy, sadden or anger me, and I make sure that the people with diabetes I call friends – who I enjoy spending time with outside of professional settings – are people with similar attitudes to living with a chronic health condition to me.

But this week, it has been hard to turn off the noise.

Online in the diabetes space, there has been a lot of chatter. It is in segments of the DOC I generally stay away from because it is not my diabetes space. But for work purposes, I’ve needed to be in there this week. Watching, reading, and hurting. I am feeling hurt for my tribe.

Let me be very clear here, my tribe is other people with diabetes. It is not their support people or their parents or their partners or healthcare professionals. It is people – children and adults – with diabetes. And in some instances, I don’t think they – we – are being served well.

We are quick to jump in when a healthcare professional or the media is doing a disservice to people with diabetes by misrepresenting the condition. We berate them, saying they don’t know what it is like to live with diabetes so how dare they say what they are saying; that what they are doing is adding to the considerable stigma surrounding diabetes. Yet there are people living with someone with diabetes – but do not have it themselves – who are just as guilty of stigmatising those of us living with it every day.

While I acknowledge and understand the importance of those other people – it takes a village, a fucking village, to live with diabetes – it cannot be denied that the only people who really know what it is like to live with diabetes is those of us who are actually doing it. Day in. Day out. As much as a loved one says they too are living with it, they are not. Their experiences of diabetes are no less valid, no less important, no less part of the fabric of the diabetes space. But they are not the ones living with it every day.

I am not minimising the experiences of those walking alongside us. We need you; we are so grateful to have you there. But you are not walking in our shoes. In exactly the same way that I am not walking in yours, and therefore, cannot understand exactly what it is like to love someone with diabetes.

I’m tired of thinking about how some of the narrative about life with type 1 is playing out. I fear that it is painting a life lived alongside someone with diabetes as hopeless. My life is not hopeless. My family’s life is not hopeless because I have diabetes.

So this weekend, I am taking a break. My online interactions will be about other things – cookie recipes (I have some new cutters from Stockholm that need breaking in), Nutella memes and finding inappropriate e-cards to send to my sister.

Have a great weekend.

This. Because our daughter loves it.

Knock knock

October 15, 2015 in Peer support, Social media | 3 comments

‘Hey love, it’s me…Renz…I’m just out grabbing a coffee, but when I get back, I’m popping in for some insulin. I’m out…long story. See you soon.’

These are the benefits to having a dear friend who just happens to have type 1 diabetes living two doors down. And that is the message I left on her phone the other night (although, because I speak so quickly, she misheard and thought I said I was out of tomato sauce and would be coming to get some – same/same.)

Why was I out of insulin? I thought I still had two bottles. I know I still had two bottles from my last prescription. Except I didn’t, because I left them in the fridge of our AirBnB apartment in Paris. Which I had realised over the weekend and I did order some from the pharmacy. I’ve just not quite made it to the pharmacy to pick up the prescription.

Sometimes having friends with diabetes is great for the practical ‘shit-I-just-ran-out-of-stuff’ reasons. But mostly it’s because of the ‘thanks-for-getting-it-and-not-judging-me’ reasons. Not once did my darling neighbour raise an eyebrow or shake her head or tsk tsk at my disorganisation. She didn’t tell me off or ask me why I wasn’t better prepared. She just went to her fridge, pulled out a vial and said ‘Is one enough?’

My friend Alanna (read her blog, ‘cause it’s fabulous and she is fabulous and I love her!) posted this on Facebook yesterday and it really resonated.

Changing the word ‘internet’ to ‘diabetes’ makes it so true. Most of my diabetes friends live so far away. I’m lucky that I get to see some of them at diabetes conferences, or when travelling for fun, but many I actually haven’t ever met IRL. They may as well be in Narnia or the Enchanted Wood or at Hogwarts! Thank goodness for every social media platform I use to keep in touch with them!

Which is why it’s so wonderful to be able to walk two doors down, knock on the door and have someone there, with matching pump tubing hanging out of our clothes, to save the day. Thanks, Jo.