There are some great new diabetes bloggers out there, one of them being Without Envy, a blog written by the father of a little girl with type 1 diabetes.  Steve has offered to write a guest post for SUM today, and I'm happy to share his words with you.

*   *   *

Pilgrimage

Shortly after our eight year old daughter Lia had been moved to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit late in the evening of December 23, the same day of her diagnosis for type 1 diabetes, the nurse working nightshift came in to check her vitals and IVs and she asked how my wife and I were doing. We told her that it was a bit much to absorb in one afternoon and because she was a nurse working in a children’s intensive care unit she said that she knew what we were going through and offered a meaningful smile. Then she said softly that we’d be just fine. She had a cousin whose son had developed diabetes some indiscriminate time ago at a similarly young age and since then the boy had taken charge of it and was managing very well. Neither of us knew what it meant to take charge of one’s diabetes but we were both tired and mentally worn out from the trials of just getting through that momentous day so we took what little solace we could from her comment and filed it away under kind, but impractical, healthcare reference.

Besides, we were hurt and dismayed and unsettled. We had no idea how this had even happened and had no interest in hearing testimonials about someone who was weeks, months, years down the road in treating their diabetes. Such well-wishing stories of mastery would become important, but not then, not with our daughter lying two feet away connected to tubes and a heart monitor. Nor were we inclined to receive them and similarly good intentions the next morning when the doctor on duty walked in wearing a holiday cartoon tie and a cheerful grin and wished us a Merry Christmas. I looked at him and hated at once his wit, his casualness and the apparent ease with which he was about to address us. Did he not see what I saw? Did he not know what I knew?

I got over him of course, just as I overcame the shock of her diagnosis and the pain and heartbreak of sticking her with needles, and the fear of letting her out of my sight. There was not much future in holding on to these things, for any of us. So we came home and with the instruction we’d received from the diabetes educators the truth behind what the night nurse had spoken of started to make itself clear. We counted carbs and recounted them. We performed the elementary calculations to determine the necessary insulin dosage then we, holders of two bachelor degrees and one masters  between us, had someone else verify it. We administered the shot through the tears and the anguish and watched as our pivotal day from the one prior struggled to become routine.

And in the days that followed it did and we listened to it and we learned and here we are now, ourselves weeks down the road. The tried and tested. Lay experts. Sharing our own testimonies, like pilgrims set out from their home, rucksacks stuffed with provisions, looking for others to witness and share in their stories and them in ours, hoping to uncover proof that you can take charge of this beast and manage well.

It’s not clear to me yet that you can. Perhaps manage and taking charge are too strong of words, an honest mistake made by someone connected only to the peripheral edges of diabetes. Reality most likely rests somewhere in the middle, a habitable settlement between freedom and tyranny. Wherever it lies, I can honestly say of the company we keep, none has been more supportive or understanding or willing to listen than that which we’ve found right here at our own fingertips. For your patience and your courage and care, we are exceptionally grateful.

Diabetes has changed us, no doubt, and when I hear others talk of their lives in terms of before this disease and after, I worry some because our lives before were good. Not good in terms of its flamboyance or abundance, we had none of that. But good in the sense that we ate right, we exercised, we lived life in moderation, and still...

It was a way of life that had we the choice we would not have aggravated, but like any pilgrimage, in words similar to that of my gracious host, it’s not the beginning or end that defines you, it’s the journey.        

See you on the road,

Steve   

*   *   *

Thanks again, Steve!  And if you would like to contribute a guest post (especially around, oh, let's say the end of April, beginning of May ...), please email me at kerri (at) sixuntilme (dot) com.  

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 10:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

Today, I have the honor of hosting a guest post from Scott Kasper, photographer extraordinaire and parent to three little boys, two of which have type 1 diabetes. He offered to share a diabetes moment he and his family had over Superbowl weekend, which I'm proud to share here.

*   *   *

We are a family of five … a mom, a dad, and three awesome boys aged 12, 10, and 6. We love to do all the stuff that every family loves to do. This weekend was packed with snowball fights, snow men, fire in the fire place, hot chocolate, movies, the Super Bowl, and of course the family board games … fun for all ages!!!
 
Sounds pretty much like a normal, par for the course white picket fence family in suburban New Jersey doing what most normal families do … right? Well, for the most part that may be true. However, there is a big disclaimer that makes my family a bit of a departure from most others. Two of the three boys have type 1 diabetes. That means, for us, the six year-old’s blood sugar crashed half way through the snowball fight, the twelve year-old gets mad when he has to count his carbs as he grazes the treats at the Super Bowl Party, and the ten year-old (who does not have diabetes) complains that he is tired of having to have sugar free hot chocolate!! Oh, and then there is the board game…

This weekend the kids decided that they wanted to play Sorry™. Okay, that’s fun enough, and doesn’t last all afternoon the way monopoly does. Mom was reading a book (if you can still call it a book when all one does is scroll from page to page on the Kindle™), Dad was available, and it’s a game for four players….perfect!! Not exactly. One of the things my kids like to do most is NOT put stuff away when they are done. As it relates to Sorry™, that means that there are no green pieces left.
 
“That’s okay Dad”, pipes up the six year old, who has had type 1 diabetes since the age of 13 months. “I know what we can use!” Off he went toward what we refer to in our home as “The Cabinet,” where we have a veritable pharmacy of diabetes supplies. Within moments he returned with four cone shaped objects, just the right size to substitute as a Sorry™ game piece. It did not strike me at first, but as I got my first turn I quickly realized that the pieces he had provided were, in fact, packaged needles for the insulin injector pen. 

Photo by Scott Kasper

We are a family of five that is, in large part, defined by type 1 diabetes. I have seen it impact every aspect of our lives. About this, my wife and I are very sorry! We’re sorry that two of our boys have to grow up with the daily complexities of life with diabetes. We’re sorry that my middle son wonders whether he will ever become diabetic. We’re sorry that, perhaps, something we did or something we genetically passed on has caused this to happen…on a daily basis we are sorry!

This weekend, without even missing a beat and without realizing how NOT normal this is, my six year old resorted to using insulin injection supplies to play a board game … not just any board game … a game of Sorry™!

How ironic is that!

*   *   *

Thanks for sharing, Scott!  To check out more of Scott's amazing photography, visit his website (and you can also become a fan on Facebook).  And if you're looking for a classy medical ID, visit the website of Scott's wife, Rachel, at RescueMeIDs!

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 09:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (24) | TrackBacks (0)

I wasn't aware of this story until Shannon (fellow d-blogger at LADAdeeda) emailed me and asked me to help her raise awareness of this story.  Apparently, Roddy Pippin stole cattle.  And is being held for eight consecutive years, without proper medical care.

Roddy has type 1 diabetes.

Shannon has contributed a guest post about this issue, but I wanted to also add a link to a post on Roddy's Ride 4 Life page, about the crime he committed and the punishment he is receiving.  Check it out and draw your own conclusions as to whether this punishment fits the crime, and please read Shannon's post below for her take on Roddy Pippin.

*   *   *

Many years ago, I watched a movie called Return to Paradise.  A thrilling premise, it centered on a young man imprisoned in Malaysia for drug trafficking.  He was sentenced to death by hanging unless his two friends, who also bought and used the drugs in question, returned to Malaysia and accepted their share of the responsibility – three years in prison if both returned, six years if only one returned.  The deal, while not in writing, was promised by the Malaysian justice department.  One friend ultimately complied.

But, in an unbelievable twist, an American reporter wrote a story about the young man, his sentence, and the “unjustness” of Malaysia’s justice system.  As a punishment for this negative portrayal of Malaysia, the judge on the case refused to abide by the terms of the agreement.  The first man’s death sentence remained, and the other was sent to prison.

Watching this film, I waited for the dramatic rescue of the man.  As he was led to the gallows, I waited for the last-minute stay of execution or other intervention.  None came, and he was hanged.

This movie was a fictional account, but it’s not difficult for us to imagine this sort of scenario happening in Malaysia.  It’s easy to picture it happening in China.  Or Indonesia.  Or even Mexico.  But, do we expect that sort of thing to happen here in the United States?  I never did.

Roddy Pippin is just twenty-six years old.  When he was nineteen, he committed a crime.  While it might not seem all that serious to me, I recognize that it is very serious to his victims.  His crime?  Cattle rustling.  He stole livestock from hardworking farmers in his Texas community.  At nineteen, he made a stupid, juvenile mistake.  One that he might pay for with his life.  Roddy has type 1 diabetes.

I think most T1s have thought about what would happen if we suddenly lost the tools we rely on to manage our diabetes.  I’ve even had the thought about what life in jail would be like for a T1.  It’s even worse than I thought.
As I’ve learned more about Roddy’s experiences, I know that being a T1 in jail is harsh.  Having your care managed by those who really don’t care at all is the reality.  Recurring hospitalizations for diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA) are common.  After all, people die from DKA all the time.  In fact, in a recent, highly-publicized Texas case, the parents of a sixteen-year-old girl are facing manslaughter charges in her DKA-caused death.  They took her insulin pump away, she became sick, and within days, was dead.

So, Texas recognizes that deliberately withholding insulin from a T1 diabetic is murder (or at least, manslaughter).  Yet, they care little for Roddy’s health.  Instead of giving him access to adequate medical care, Roddy has instead been moved to a facility that houses violent criminals, even death-row inmates.

Where is the justice in this?  How large should Roddy’s debt to society be?

*   *   *

Your thoughts?

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 08:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)

Today, I'm honored to have Catherine Price (of A Sweet Life and The New York Times fame) guest blogging at SUM, and she's tackling the issue of the Christmas holidays and diabetes.  Enjoy her post, and welcome her to the diabetes online community!

*   *   *

December is scattered with diabetic land mines, and things only get worse on holidays themselves. In my case, that's Christmas, an occasion my family used to celebrate not just with large amounts of carb-laden foods, but by going to the Nutcracker, the world's most diabetically unfriendly ballet. Featuring a hula-hooping troupe of human candy canes, the entire second act is set in a place called The Land of Sweets, and stars the nemesis of every diabetic ballerina: the Sugar Plum Fairy.

I was lucky -- I wasn't diagnosed with Type 1 till I was 22, which meant I had a childhood full of injection-free holiday treats (and, for that matter, ballets). Believe me, I lived it up: Christmas was a time to make chocolate-dipped peanut butter bars for my grandmother, who had a sweet tooth, and birthday cakes for my dad, who was born on Christmas Eve. My mother and I celebrated the holidays by baking Irish soda bread and laboring over pots of boiling oil to make chrusciki, a traditional Polish cookie made of deep fried dough dipped in powdered sugar. And at college, when my classmates and I decorated a tree with hand-made gingerbread men, I was known for eating cookies off its branches. In other words, as someone who spent her youth with a natural source of insulin, I know all too well what we diabetics are up against. Forget two front teeth -- all I want for Christmas is a new pancreas.

It's easy to let the consequences of our malfunctioning immune systems get in the way of holiday fun, but this year, I've decided to adopt a new attitude. I was wandering around a mall a few weeks ago and noticed that I was feeling very satisfied with myself.  I tried to figure out why and realized I was feeling virtuous for not spending money when there were so many options around. This made me happy for a moment, till I realized why, exactly, I hadn't made any purchases: there wasn't anything that I wanted to buy. I didn't want faux-fur-lined Dansko clogs; I didn't need reindeer candle holders from Pottery Barn. Sure, I enjoyed looking around, and I did end up with a $15 box of Aveda tea. But for the most part, being virtuous was easy. Not only did this faux sense of self-control make me feel good about myself, but it left me happier about the few things I did decide to buy.

So what if I were to adopt a similar attitude toward food? It's easy to bemoan all the things that diabetes makes hard to eat, but there are plenty of high-carb holiday treats that just aren't that good. Like candy canes, for example. Who needs more than a few licks? Egg nog is great till you see one of those holiday scare stories on the 5 o'clock news about how many calories there are in a cup (343, to be exact). And then, of course, there's fruitcake -- loaded with fat, studded with dried fruit, and completely, totally, unappealing. The list goes on. Christmas Stollen -- gross. Rum-spiked fruit punch -- fine, till you get up on a table at your office holiday party and insist your boss refer to you as Santa. Cakes that look like yule logs? Totally not worth the insulin.

Approached this way, holiday eating can become almost fun: just surround yourself with food you don't want and then take pride in saying no. It reminds me of a quote I once heard about Miles Davis. Someone pointed out that what made him such an amazing musician was the notes he didn't play. So forget feeling guilty about that one Christmas cupcake. Instead, measure your accomplishments by the food you didn't eat. That way, when you meet a holiday cookie you truly can't resist --or, in my case, a glass of really rich hot chocolate -- you can count up the carbs, turbo-charge your pump, and enjoy.

 

Catherine Price is a freelance journalist and blogger/frequent contributor to the diabetes site A Sweet Life.

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 09:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 08:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

*   *   *

Kerri asked me to guest babble while she flies off to Southern European film shoot. Sucks to be her huh?

What do you get out of the deal? Less than squat - you are stuck with me as the After School Movie of the Week Special Guest Star.  Sucks to be you, huh? 

Anyway this whole Mediterranean movie thing has me thinking of the old Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns. Stumped for anything intelligent to say I thought I would turn to Clint for some type 1 diabetes care wisdom:

Diabetes life is only in part about Blood Work most is about attitude. Look at the meter and say make my day.  When you don’t like what is says then learn to adapt, to improvise. The key is to get the care done Any Which Way You Can. Don't walk a Tightrope trying to make it A Perfect World. That would be a True Crime.  Don’t go looking for a Sudden Impact.

Newbies  - you may be the The Rookie but you’re not in the Dead Pool. It isn’t Breezy, easy. BG is sometimes going to go Every Which Way But Loose. When your fingers feel like "Rawhide" remember someone thinks you are the Million Dollar Baby (Like say the strip companies!)

Be the Enforcer of what you do and let the numbers be the Changeling. When your numbers go to Where Eagles Dare or drops top where you are the Pale Rider,  don’t let them make you feel you are Unforgiven on Heartbreak Ridge. You have the Absolute Power to move up from a Gran Torino to a Pink Cadillac.

It would be fun to move Clint into Larry Bird territory around here, so how about chipping in your favorite Clint inspired silliness?

OK if that doesn’t make you miss Kerri, I don’t know what will.

*   *   *

Ring, ring.

Kerri:  Hello?

Larry:  Kerri.  It's me.  I'm not sure if you saw that post from that Bennet guy?

Kerri:  Larry ... um, I obviously saw it.  It's what we were just reading before you called.  Kind of hard to miss.

Larry:  He's not building many bridges into our respective Madison Counties, Ker.  If he runs his mouth about our relationship, I might send him out to orbit like a Space Cowboy.

Kerri:  Dude, you just got sucked into it.   Don't let Bennet get in your head.  You'll never get him out.  It's like ...

Larry:  Escaping from Alcatraz?

Kerri:  Silence.

Larry:  Get it?  

Kerri:  Larry, this just got too weird.  I gotta go. 

Click. 

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 08:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 08:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

After a hectic week with the conference in Philly and then Chris's great news, I need to spend some time today catching up on everything.  Thankfully, Jessica Phillips has offered to guest post today, writing about marking 500 days with type 1 diabetes.  She's come a long way, and I'm proud to host her words here on SUM.

Heeeeeeere's Jessica! 

As I was injecting myself with insulin on a lunch break at work, a co-worker walked by and exclaimed, “I could never do that! EW! I hate needles!” Less than two years ago I might have agreed. I never had a strong phobia of needles, but that is not to say that I particularly liked them either. I was known in my childhood to run out of doctor’s offices into the parking lot at the first mention of “shot”. Now when I hear such a strong and callous remark to my now normal routine of insulin injections, I struggle with trying not to angrily reply, “Well you would have to give yourself shots if you had to in order to live!” or, “How do you think I feel? You think I want to do this?” I’ve learned as of late to simply smile and say, “It’s not easy.”

Reactions like this are commonplace for those of you who have experienced Type One Diabetes for many years, and even some for the majority of your life. For me, June 9th, 2009 marked my 500th day with type 1 diabetes. I was diagnosed in my hometown of San Diego, California on January 25th, 2008 at 26 years-old. For a couple months prior to diagnosis I had been experiencing the typical signs of hyperglycemia and a failing pancreas as I was constantly dehydrated, urinating, and tired. Being a college student and in a constant state of stress, I quickly attributed the majority of my symptoms, from dizziness to infections, to be solely related to my immune system’s battle with my constant stress. After many weeks of procrastinating, I finally urged my doctor to order a blood test. I went in to the lab on January 23rd and was called by my doctor 24 hours later while I was driving to school. The tone in her voice immediately caught my attention and set me in a state of alarm. She informed me that my blood sugar the day before was above 300 mg/dL and I was to avoid sugar and be referred to an endocrinologist immediately.

Luckily I was able to see an experienced endocrinologist the next day, and he diagnosed me with type 1 within minutes of being seated in the exam room. I was in complete shock, and felt confused, angry, and overwhelmingly sad all at the same time. I felt a struggle between trying to remain alert to the bombardment of information he was feeding me, and trying desperately not to cry. The doctor left the room to retrieve my new meter and insulin pens, and I lost it. Luckily I had some moral support with me, but I have never felt so alone and lost. I kept thinking, “how did this happen?” and, “what did I do wrong?” To have gone many years without having anything major occur medically, not even a broken bone, it was a major shock to hear I had something irreversibly wrong with me. I not only had something wrong, but I could not do anything to change it.

The next few days were extremely challenging to say the least. I was unable to give myself insulin and had to have someone else do it for me for the first couple days. I would sit and look at the needle and could not conceive of how this tiny piece of metal was going to go through my skin. I just kept thinking it was so wrong, and foreign. I also cried. A lot. And I researched online and in books so much that I felt as though I could speak at a lecture on the biology of diabetes. I found the knowledge empowering, and the more I grasped what my body was actually doing, and not doing, I became more confident in my ability to control my state.

Now, 500 days later, this diabetic routine is normal to me. I can hardly even remember a time when diabetes wasn’t on my mind. The memories have faded of when my blood sugar was not a concern, and when I was able to look at food as just food. The last year and a half has been a giant emotional roller coaster, full of ups and downs, but they have changed me. Sometimes I get the look of sympathy from others when I detail my hardships with this disease, anywhere from medical costs to just the simple annoyance of pricking myself all the time, and I have found myself realizing that although I would not choose to have this disease, I consider myself lucky. I am lucky of course to not have something worse, but having gone through this change has made me look at my life through a new and clearer lens. My bottom-line now is a cliché idea, but it is so true … life is short, and you only get one shot, so make it worth it, no matter what.

*     *     *

Thanks for sharing your story, Jessica.  (And for the record, Jessica is the one with the fantastic hair on the right in that photo.  Also for the record, I just realized that today is my 8,209th day with diabetes.  Holy crap, my pancreas is lazy.) 

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 10:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (17) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm not sure why I'm even letting her do this, but she asked like a million times.  So here is a guest blog from Ms. Siah Sausage. 

Sigh.

*   *   *

I'm not as bad as she makes me out to be. I'm a little gray cat and I barely cause any trouble at all, so I'm not sure why she's always complaining about me.

Sure, I like to use the litter box and then attempt to snuggle with her, but I'm just as shocked as you are that she doesn't want to appreciate my olfactory contributions.  Every scent I make is lovely, I assure you.

And of course I have to pad around the bed while they're trying to sleep. But how am I supposed to know which side of the bed is softest and comfiest unless I try both out, repeatedly?  She's just grumpy because she goes to bed late and gets up early.  It's not my fault.  I just lay there, against her ankles, forcing her to sleep like she's the Vitruvian Man.  (I looked that up.) 

Yes, there's also some truth to her issues with me stalking her in the bathroom. But that's just fun for me.

Also, this whole "the cat ate my pump tubing" complaint is just plain silly.  I am a cat.  If something plastic and bouncy dangles in front of my face, I will go after it.  Instinct, people!  I haz them.  Besides, insulin has a nice, chewy band aid sort of taste to it. Same goes for playing with and hiding test strips.  Toys are toys - I don't care if they have your DNA on them.  (Yes, I also looked up "DNA."  I may be a cat but I can use Google.)

The plain truth is this:  She loves me.  When people aren't looking, she picks me up and snuggles me.  She balances used test strips on my head and laughs at how I walk around without knocking them off.  She talks to me when Chris isn't home, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was on the verge of issuing a commemorative plate in my honor.  

So don't listen to her rantings about what a pain I am.

The woman thinks I'm my own pajamas. 

*   *   *

I don't even know what to say.

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 09:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (16) | TrackBacks (0)

Today's guest post comes from blogger Jeff Kuhns.  His daughter Olivia had type 1 diabetes and his blog, Team Olivia, was among the first that I found after I started SUM.  I'm honored to have him posting here, sharing the perspective of the parent of a child with diabetes.

*   *   * 

10.2!  10 point freakin’ 2!  I was aghast, shocked, astounded, and flabbergasted.  At least I felt the need to be.  Play the part for the dietitian and the CDE.  But I guess I knew.  Being father of the year was going to take a little more work.  I’m taking this hard because I had the unfortunate duty of being the one to take the day off and hit the doctor’s appointments.

As a father of a 10-year old Type 1 daughter.  I always struggle between the need for my daughter to gain independence with her diabetes and the need to make sure that she remains healthy.  This time I apparently erred in the wrong direction.  (I say I because I am writing this but really it is we – my wife takes a tremendous amount of responsibility.) Never have either of us been “helicopter” parents.  We were raised to be independent and have lived away from our families for almost 20 years. 

So, 10 point freakin’ 2.  Let that settle in and wrap your head around it.  That’s an average blood sugar of around 300 – AVERAGE!  And, Olivia, my daughter, is on a pump.  “Horrible,” as the CDE reiterated to me. What is going on?  (This is where I think it is pertinent to mention that Olivia was also recently diagnosed with ADHD.)  Forgotten boluses!  Incorrect basals! Not putting insulin in before she eats! 

I had to reconcile it with myself.  All of these things could have been better reinforced by my wife and me.  We are ultimately responsible for our daughter’s well being.  It was time to take back the responsibility for now.  Independence will come – but in small steps.  Now we have a goal, 8.5 or bust.  This means an average blood sugar around 200.  How?  Phone calls when we are not eating together.  My wife and I manipulating the pump at meal times.  Consequences for forgotten boluses.

Okay, so “Father of the Year” may have to wait a while but, there are more important things!

(Olivia pretending to eat a giant cupcake.)

*   *   *

Jeff, we'll be pulling for you.  I know Olivia (and you guys) can hit that 8.5!  Thanks for posting, and let us know what happens! 

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 08:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

Today's guest post is from ePatient Dave, who beat stage IV, grade 4 renal cell carcinoma with the help of fantastic doctors, supportive family and friends, and the power of the ePatient movement.  Today, Dave writes at The New Life of e-Patient Dave and he's offered to post here on SUM about the true power of patients online.  (And we, as PWDs, know how important the patient community is!)

One year ago today I finished reading e-Patients: How they can help us heal healthcare, the e-patient white paper. It turned my head around because although I’d experienced excellent care in almost all ways, it showed that I as a patient have far more to contribute than I ever would have imagined.

The people who assembled that report (not me) are smart, perceptive, and insightful about the future. When I “synopsized” each chapter in posts on my own blog last summer, here’s what I wrote about chapter 2.

This chapter was my personal favorite, because it exploded so many myths and provided so much evidence that the change is already well underway.

Remember, I didn’t read this until late January 2008, six months after my treatment had ended. When I read it, my immediate question to the e-patient working group was, “How the (#@$! could I have gone through last year without ever hearing about this?? We need to get the word out!” So here we are.

From the introduction:

“John Seely Brown… notes that when established experts first consider the effects of new information technologies and the cultural transformations they produce, they typically do so from within the cultural constraints of their established professional paradigm … We were no exception. Our findings were so unexpected that we were forced to consider alternative points of view… But as Brown discovered, ‘Really substantive innovations – the phone, the copier, the car, the PC, the Internet – drastically alter social practices.’”

The authors – mostly doctors, remember – said “Our most helpful insights came from a growing awareness that e-patients use the Internet in three fundamentally different ways: to access content, connect with others, and collaborate with others in ways never possible before.”

See what I mean about how this had strong echos for me? They continue:

… many who have attempted to study or explain e-patients and many leaders in medical reform have overlooked, ignored, downplayed or even actively opposed some of the most innovative developments in modern medicine.

Presenting their findings, they said “We modestly suggest that the tentative conclusions below are no more ‘anti-doctor’ or ‘anti-medicine’ than the conclusions of Copernicus and Galileo were ‘anti-astronomer.’” The preliminary conclusions:

1. e-patients have become valuable contributors, and providers should recognize them as such.
“When clinicians acknowledge and support their patients’ role in self-management … they exhibit fewer symptoms, demonstrate better outcomes, and require less professional care.”

2. The art of empowering patients is trickier than we thought.
“We now know that empowering patients requires a change in their level of engagement, and in the absence of such changes, clinician-provided [information] has few, if any, positive effects.”

3. We have underestimated patients’ ability to provide useful online resources.
Fabulous story of the “best of the best” web sites for mental health, as determined by a doctor in that field, without knowing who runs them. Of the sixteen sites, it turned out that 10 were produced by patients, 5 by professionals, and 1 by a bunch of artists and researchers at Xerox PARC!

4. We have overestimated the hazards of imperfect online health information.
This one’s an eye-opener: in four years of looking for “death by googling,” even with a fifty-euro bounty for each reported death(!), researchers found only one possible case.

    * “[But] the Institute of Medicine estimates the number of hospital deaths due to medical errors at 44,000 to 98,000 annually” … [and other researchers suggest more than twice as many]
    * We can only conclude, tentatively, that adopting the traditional passive patient role … may be considerably more dangerous than attempting to learn about one’s medical condition on the Internet.” (emphasis added)

5. Whenever possible, healthcare should take place on the patient’s turf.
(Don’t create a new platform they have to visit - take yourself wherever they’re already meeting online.)

6. Clinicians can no longer go it alone.

    * Another eye-popper: “Over the past century, medical information has increased exponentially … but the capacity of the human brain has not. As Donald Lindberge, director of the National Library of Medicine, explains ‘If I read and memorized two medical journal articles every night, by the end of a year I’d be 400 years behind.”
    * In contrast, when you or I have a desperate medical condition, we have all the time in the world to go deep and do every bit of research we can get our hands on. Think about that. What you expect of your doctor may shift - same for your interest in “participatory medicine.”

7. The most effective way to improve healthcare is to make it more collaborative.
“We cannot simply replace the old physician-centered model with a new patient-centered model… We must develop a new collaborative model that draws on the strengths of both systems. In the chapters that follow, we offer more suggestions on how we might accomplish this.”

Great stuff! An awakening for all players in the “ecosystem,” as we say in the business world: patients, providers, equipment developers, everyone.

Wake up to the new world of participatory medicine: equip, enable and empower patient participation.

*   *   *

I love it - "participatory medicine."  We, as health bloggers, are part of an enormous revolution.  And I'm proud we're all a part of it, from the bloggers to the commenters to the lurkers.

(Note:  This post originally appeared on e-Patients.net.)

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 01:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

The guest blog today is from Willie Cromack, the CEO for Accu-Chek Cyclebetes.  Willie writes passionately about Cyclebetes and their mission to keep the promise for a diabetes cure.  That sounds pretty darn good to me. 

The floor's yours, Willie!

I don’t have diabetes.  I don’t know what it is like to monitor my sugar levels.  I don’t know the emotional levels that accompany being a type 1 diabetic or even the parent of a child with diabetes.  I am not an official insider.

However, I am loyal.  I am aware.  I understand the consequences.  I am a parent. I am passionate about leaving the world a better place than when I came into it. And I must help my friend fulfill his promise.

In 2007 a group of five friends bandied around one man who had made a promise to his daughter.  I was one of those men.  The father’s promise: to cure juvenile diabetes before his daughter’s 18th birthday.  In 2007 she was 12.

As it turned out we decided to take our passion for the outdoors, sports and events and create a cycling event like no other. Team Halifax to Vancouver [Team H2V] was born.  The idea: relay race across Canada [just over 6000km] in the shortest period of time ever.  Long story short: we succeeded in crossing in only 8 days and raised nearly $1 million for the JDRF.  More than that the media we gained, we raised the awareness of juvenile diabetes in Canada by an enormous level.  Watch the story unfold here.  

When we returned I resumed my life as a bike shop owner, an event creator/promoter, and a dad.  However, I was haunted by the idea that we had created something amazing and I did not want it to die.

We continued with our ideas and proceeded to write a book on the attitude it took to create our amazing ride.  It was called the Principles of the Ride: How to maximize what’s inside You.  Of the physical copies proceeds would continue to aid the JDRF.  (If you want a free copy, you can get one here.)

Still it was not powerful enough to create a long-term legacy.  We needed young people around the world to take action, see their power and we needed our original ride to inspire their efforts.  For years I had done a lot of promotional charity work through my bike store and these efforts ended up yielding the final piece of the legacy puzzle.  In particular, I had done some 24 hour rides within my store to raise money for charity.  I would use a bike trainer to ride continuously for an entire day and our customers would throw a few dollars into the jar.  The money raised was always a significant amount but paled in comparison to the money we raised going across Canada.  Coming from the category of “you just never know who is paying attention or what will happen” a friend and racer at John Henry Bikes wanted to talk to me, inspired by the race across Canada.  He had also been a person who had threatened to join me on my 24 hour spins.  Together we decided to create a 24hr spin-a-thon at the high school where he taught.  But rather than being the heroes we would emphasize school leadership committees taking on the production.  The Team H2V ride across Canada would be the inspiration for a modified version of relay teams indoors and at a high school.  The focus would be - students leading students to help their friends, family and others with type 1 diabetes.

The idea was a huge hit.  The students loved it and attacked the organizing of it with zest and zeal.  They created the name Cyclebetes and decided teams of 1-12 would participate … the aim being as many teams as possible.  In the end each team was to attempt to raise $1000, our goal being $50,000 from the one school.  

Cyclebetes, version one, exploded! Thirty five teams, a student driven organization and $82,000 raised!

This was it. The true legacy.

*   *   *

Thanks for letting me host your post, Willie!   

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 08:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Thanks to my friend Landileigh at Landileigh's Little World for guest blogging today.  (Hopefully, as you're reading this, I'm drinking some kind of tropical concoction from a coconut and laying out on a beach.)  She's one of the kindest souls here in the diabetes community, and I'm proud to host her post.  Take it away, Landi! 

*   *   * 

I want to thank Kerri for allowing me to be a guest blogger on SixUntilMe! She is one of the main reasons for this post, and I hope to explain why.

So often we are asked about our “diabetic team.” Videos and brochures you receive from your doctor’s office always talk about your “diabetic team.” They explain that this is your endocrinologist, your nutritionist, your CDE, family, and friends. I believe that these days my team also includes my Online Community.

My online community began with the Diabetes 365 project in October of 2007. The support from the other photographers that were participating, through comments and then through the mail, was outstanding. Soon I was to learn that their support was not just relegated to this particular project. There were blogs, and social networks, and messaging. It was reaching out to me in all sorts of mediums of communication.

In February of 2008, I met my first diabetes online community member, then another, then another. These online people were now no longer figments of my imagination, but flesh and blood who responded in kind, like true friends.

At any given moment in time, there is a D-friend online, either on Twitter, or Facebook, or Juvenation or one of the other social media outlets. Someone to commiserate with, laugh with, cry with, or just to hold your hand – virtually. I value these friendships as much as I do the ones within my real life. They are real, just thousands of miles away.

Recently my dearest D-friend went on a vacation for a week. Far from time zones where we could really talk, I missed her more than I thought I could. I awaited for her return as if I was awaiting any loved one from an airport. During her time away from the internet, I knew that she was so much more than just a face/name on the internet that went away when I closed the lid of my laptop. She was in my thoughts, and prayers until I knew she was home safe and sound.

I love the D-OC and all that it stands for. The community of people that we are striving to become grows by leaps and bounds, and that feeling of no longer being alone in this crazy ass disease gets smaller every day.

If you have a chance, reach out to a fellow D-OC’er and give ‘em a virtual hug today. Since you are reading this, I’m giving you one right now too! Remember, we are all part of your diabetic team!

*   *   *

Thanks, Landi!  I can see the t-shirts now:  "Have you hugged a blogger today?"  For more on the power of community, check out my post on "Who Benefits From Patient Blogging?"  

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 08:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

Hello from my cruise!  (Only sort of, because I'm loading these guest posts in ahead of time, so right now I'm home with a gray cat circling like a shark.  But I'm pretending to be on the cruise, and that's a nice thought.  Whoops!  Digression again.) 

Today's post is from Christine who blogs at By The Numbers.  Her son, Thomas, was diagnosed two years ago with type 1 diabetes, and she's offered to tell her story here at SUM.  And, as always, I remain in awe of the parents of diabetic kids.  They're truly amazing.

Two years ago, at age 5, our son Thomas was diagnosed with diabetes.  We were blindsided.  I knew absolutely nothing about this disease, treatment, long term effects.  Nothing.  That first night in Children’s Hospital the nurse told us TJ would be receiving his first insulin dose and I wondered aloud what form that dose would take – a pill?  How many doses until he would be over this diabetes thing?  We were planning on a Celtics game the next day - would be out of the hospital in time?  Seriously clueless.

One week later I was home, in a fog. I had a binder full of information, a list of appointments at the Joslin clinic, and pages of questions.  I was like a new mother again – too many questions, too few solutions.  When my babies were little, I belonged to a new mother’s support group.  The women in that group were a lifeline, and I am lucky to call them great friends ten years later.  In search of something similar, I began scouring the web.  I didn’t find support groups, but I did find heaps of blogs (SUM included).  Those became my first peek into life with diabetes.

Slowly, the care became easier.  The questions became answers, the treatment became an insulin pump, diabetes became a part of our life instead of a massive intrusion.  Less and less I found I wanted the answers for right now, more and more I wanted answers for the future.  Although none of us can see the future for our children, I can imagine a sports event, a sleepover, a first dance.  I can’t imagine an adolescent and adult life with diabetes.  What would it be like for TJ to play sports, go on a date, go to college, get a job, all with diabetes in tow?  It’s the desire to know the answers to those “long-term” questions that have driven me to become like a voyeur of adults with diabetes, staring in at the lives of adult (and adolescent) diabetics (or PWD’s). 

The first summer after Thomas’ diagnosis, when things were still quite fresh, we were sitting on the beach when I noticed a mother on a nearby blanket.  I was watching at first because she was pregnant and in a bikini – a fashion statement I was never brave enough to attempt.  But then I noticed the tubing of her pump snaking around her bikini bottom.  And shortly after she took a test kit out of a little makeup pouch, tested, and promptly drank a juice box.  It was amazing to me – I had just witnessed someone treat a low.  Sitting right there, without the big to-do that ensued in my house.  I wanted to jump up and scream to all my friends, “look!  That lady over there is diabetic, and more than that she is LOW!”  It was then that I realized I was being rude – staring in at someone’s private life.
 
So, in an effort to remain socially acceptable, I have curbed my initial voyeurism a bit.  But, I do allow myself a few peeks into the lives of people with diabetes.  Although I stopped reading most of the blogs I found (I did have to go back to work, after all) I became addicted to SUM.  Kerri (unknowing – I’m a world class lurker) became a constant source of information about life as a diabetic.  While pondering a management or logistical question I will often remember back to a post I have read.  Kerri’s blogs about sleepovers, for instance, allow me to see the possibilities for Thomas to also spend a night with friends.

The two adults I know find themselves the constant recipients of diabetes related questions (How much did you bolus for that?  Do you ever go low while you are teaching? How often will you test now that we just finished three martinis? What kind of pump do you have? How often do you change your site?).  When I am with them, they must feel as if they are under a microscope, but they are both gracious, kind, and caring individuals who have answered question upon question without so much as a sigh.

So far, I’ve been lucky.  Kerri continues to update her blog daily.  Those amazing adults don’t run when they see me coming, and they continue to share ideas, thoughts, and personal information.  I might not be able to know what TJ is going through, and I certainly can’t predict his future, but because so many in the diabetic community are willing to offer a glimpse into their own adult lives, I have a better idea.

*   *   *

Thank you so much, Christine!  (And hi to Thomas!)

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

Hello from my cruise!  (Only sort of, because I'm loading these guest posts in ahead of time, so right now I'm home with a gray cat circling like a shark.  But I'm pretending to be on the cruise, and that's a nice thought.  Whoops!  Digression again.) 

Today's post is from Christine who blogs at By The Numbers.  Her son, Thomas, was diagnosed two years ago with type 1 diabetes, and she's offered to tell her story here at SUM.  And, as always, I remain in awe of the parents of diabetic kids.  They're truly amazing.

Two years ago, at age 5, our son Thomas was diagnosed with diabetes.  We were blindsided.  I knew absolutely nothing about this disease, treatment, long term effects.  Nothing.  That first night in Children’s Hospital the nurse told us TJ would be receiving his first insulin dose and I wondered aloud what form that dose would take – a pill?  How many doses until he would be over this diabetes thing?  We were planning on a Celtics game the next day - would be out of the hospital in time?  Seriously clueless.

One week later I was home, in a fog. I had a binder full of information, a list of appointments at the Joslin clinic, and pages of questions.  I was like a new mother again – too many questions, too few solutions.  When my babies were little, I belonged to a new mother’s support group.  The women in that group were a lifeline, and I am lucky to call them great friends ten years later.  In search of something similar, I began scouring the web.  I didn’t find support groups, but I did find heaps of blogs (SUM included).  Those became my first peek into life with diabetes.

Slowly, the care became easier.  The questions became answers, the treatment became an insulin pump, diabetes became a part of our life instead of a massive intrusion.  Less and less I found I wanted the answers for right now, more and more I wanted answers for the future.  Although none of us can see the future for our children, I can imagine a sports event, a sleepover, a first dance.  I can’t imagine an adolescent and adult life with diabetes.  What would it be like for TJ to play sports, go on a date, go to college, get a job, all with diabetes in tow?  It’s the desire to know the answers to those “long-term” questions that have driven me to become like a voyeur of adults with diabetes, staring in at the lives of adult (and adolescent) diabetics (or PWD’s). 

The first summer after Thomas’ diagnosis, when things were still quite fresh, we were sitting on the beach when I noticed a mother on a nearby blanket.  I was watching at first because she was pregnant and in a bikini – a fashion statement I was never brave enough to attempt.  But then I noticed the tubing of her pump snaking around her bikini bottom.  And shortly after she took a test kit out of a little makeup pouch, tested, and promptly drank a juice box.  It was amazing to me – I had just witnessed someone treat a low.  Sitting right there, without the big to-do that ensued in my house.  I wanted to jump up and scream to all my friends, “look!  That lady over there is diabetic, and more than that she is LOW!”  It was then that I realized I was being rude – staring in at someone’s private life.
 
So, in an effort to remain socially acceptable, I have curbed my initial voyeurism a bit.  But, I do allow myself a few peeks into the lives of people with diabetes.  Although I stopped reading most of the blogs I found (I did have to go back to work, after all) I became addicted to SUM.  Kerri (unknowing – I’m a world class lurker) became a constant source of information about life as a diabetic.  While pondering a management or logistical question I will often remember back to a post I have read.  Kerri’s blogs about sleepovers, for instance, allow me to see the possibilities for Thomas to also spend a night with friends.

The two adults I know find themselves the constant recipients of diabetes related questions (How much did you bolus for that?  Do you ever go low while you are teaching? How often will you test now that we just finished three martinis? What kind of pump do you have? How often do you change your site?).  When I am with them, they must feel as if they are under a microscope, but they are both gracious, kind, and caring individuals who have answered question upon question without so much as a sigh.

So far, I’ve been lucky.  Kerri continues to update her blog daily.  Those amazing adults don’t run when they see me coming, and they continue to share ideas, thoughts, and personal information.  I might not be able to know what TJ is going through, and I certainly can’t predict his future, but because so many in the diabetic community are willing to offer a glimpse into their own adult lives, I have a better idea.

*   *   *

Thank you so much, Christine!  (And hi to Thomas!)

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm in vacation prep mode BIG TIME (prep = mega spazzing), so I'm grateful that Tony Rose has offered to guest post here today.  Tony blogs over at Blogging Diabetes and has been living with type 1 diabetes since 1998.  He's been pumping for the last 3 years and is a diabetes advocate.  You can find Tony actively participating in the diabetes online community on Twitter (and you can also find me there, too).

He's got some insights on handling diabetes as the weather starts to warm, so take it away, Tony!

As we come up on the nicer weather, many different activities start happening.  People are getting out more, there’s yard work to do, traveling, vacationing and just more all-around outdoor activities.  With these activities come some important considerations in order to effectively manage diabetes and stay safe.

Activity/Exercise
With more exercise and activity from outdoor tasks and enjoyment, comes a new level of difficulty with controlling blood sugar levels.  The first nice day of Spring had me outdoors doing some yard work that had a dramatic impact on my blood sugar.  I didn’t need nearly as much of a basal dose and found myself eating just to keep my sugar up.  The temporary basal rate on my insulin pump comes in very handy for yard work and that round of golf (walking).  Also, it might be a good time to look at and test your basal rate’s effectiveness.  This can be dome by testing your sugar, fasting for 4 hours and then retesting to see if your blood sugar level goes up.  Consult your doctor to fine-tune that basal.

Traveling
I have had diabetes for over 10 years and travel frequently.  Over this time, I have never had a problem going through airport security with diabetes supplies, like syringes, pump supplies, insulin vials, and so on.  Never have I carried a letter from my doctor saying that I am a diabetic and require medical supplies.  Sadly, I think the security people are accustomed to seeing the supplies and don’t question it.  For more detailed information check out the American Diabetes Association’s web site.  A very important consideration that is important to make is taking extra supplies with you.  When I travel, I typically take 1.5 times the supplies I would typically need at home.  You never know when a flight may be canceled or you could be stranded on a deserted island.  I found myself in a situation early on with the pump where one infusion set had lost its stickiness and I was down to my last one.  Having no supplies left is not a good feeling and can be avoided by a little proper planning.

Glucagon
To this day, I have never needed a Glucagon injection because my sugar was so low I couldn’t eat/drink to bring it up.  What I found is that they expire after a year or two.  I know it’s not rocket science to figure that one out, but it’s kind of like, out of sight out of mind.  Since I have never used it, I don’t tend to think about it that often.  As the fire department recommends in regards to smoke alarm batteries, I would say to check your Glucagon expiration date every year at a minimum to ensure it’s ready if you need it.

Reading
I am a big fan of reading when I can and try to do a little every night in bed.  As the nice weather arrives, more people may be lounging outside, at the pool or at the beach.  One of my favorite things to do while vacationing is to read by the water.  I just finished an exercise where I solicited feedback from either people with diabetes or have a family member with diabetes on what they think is the best book related to diabetes.  Here are a few that you may want to pick up for when you have some down time.

1.    Pumping Insulin by John Walsh and Ruth Roberts
2.    The Mind-Body Diabetes Revolution by Richard Surwit
3.    Know Your Numbers, Outlive Your Diabetes by Richard Jackson and Amy Tenderich
4.    Sweet Invisible Body by Lisa Roney
5.    Cheating Destiny: Living with Diabetes by James Hirsch

Thank you for this guest post opportunity and keep up the great work on SUM!

*   *   * 

Editor's note:  Thanks for guest blogging, Tony! 

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 09:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Thanks to Jessica Hickok for offering to guest post today (I'm still in Tucson with the fabulous Dr. Val).  Jessica wrote a post about something that is definitely on the forefront of my diabetes mind, namely diabetes and motherhood.   Jessica offers up her thoughts on her diabetes pregnancy and advice on managing all the emotions.

*  *  *  

Quoting a line from the movie “Steel Magnolias” for the title of this post seems only fitting when guest blogging about what it is like to have babies and type 1 diabetes. 

You see, I am type 1 and currently 31 years old.  When I was 22, my husband and I had been married 2 years and decided it was time to fulfill our dreams and have a baby.  And the biggest piece of advice I can give to everyone who has seen the movie “Steel Magnolias” … it is important to remember that life does not always imitate art.

We did the planning and really worked hard on keeping my blood sugars regulated.  We spoke to my doctor and with an HbA1c of 6.8% we were given the green light to have a baby. <insert cheesy, romantic interlude here>.

However, when I found out that I was pregnant with my first child, I was both elated and scared at the same time.  I knew it was coming, but I immediately thought to myself “what if something goes wrong?” 

When other PWDs ask me about my child-birth experiences, I feel compelled to share my story and the following advice of what you can expect or should consider: 

1.    Do not let diabetes steal your thunder.
Be happy for yourself, you’re having a baby!  Just because you have a chronic condition, does not mean that you cannot enjoy the pregnancy and anticipation of motherhood.  Nor can you let your dreams be ruled by fear or guilt of your disease.  So you have to work a little harder at staying in a healthy glucose range, big deal, you’re going to do that anyway.

2.    Be comfortable with your doctor.
Being diabetic automatically puts you in a high-risk category.  However that doesn’t mean that you should lose sight of your basic rights as a patient.  Find a doctor that is comfortable with your disease and one that is willing to work with your diabetes doctor or endocrinologist. 

3.    Expect that your baby might be big. 
High sugars can spill over into the placenta feeding the baby and causing a large birth weight.  Both of my boys were born approximately 3 weeks early and the first one weighed 9lbs 12oz and my second was 10lbs 14oz.  No, I am not looking for a prize, but I do point that out just to prove that all of my complaining during pregnancy was justified.

4.    You may have to have a c-section.
C-setions aren’t bad, they just sound scary.  Yes, it will take you time to recover, but just think with your tightly controlled blood sugars that you had during pregnancy, your recovery time should go relatively quick. I had both of my babies delivered c-section and I wouldn’t trade it for the world…I did tell you that they were big babies, right?!

5.    Expect that your sugar readings will roller coaster after having the baby. 
While my hormones were bouncing around back into place the few weeks after having the baby, it caused my sugar readings bounce along with it.

6.    Diabetics have healthy babies all the time. 
Today, my first child is 8 years old and my second is 5 years old.  They are bright, healthy and so-far diabetes free. (knock on wood).  And the good news is that my story didn’t turn out at all like the one in Steel Magnolias.

I was lucky to have my insulin pump while I was pregnant.  And because there have been so many advances in diabetes technology (enter CGM!), I know that it has only become better and easier for PWDs to have children. 
 
The moment I held that precious newborn, my fears were all washed away.  For those amazing first moments of holding my new baby, I was not diabetic … I was a mother.

Disclosure from Jessica: Please keep in mind that this post is written purely based on my opinion and my personal experiences with pregnancy and childbirth.  I am not by any means a medical doctor.  Nor do I share my story as medical advice. Please talk to your doctor about your plans to have children.

Editor's note:  Thank you for posting today, Jessica!  There are guest blogger spots I'm looking to fill, so if you'd like to guest blog on SUM, email me!

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 07:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (19) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm traveling to the Canyon Ranch Institute (and spa!!) this morning to give a lecture with Dr. Val of Better Health, so I've asked Adam Kaye to guest post today.  Adam and I have been corresponding by email for a while now, and I had the opportunity to meet him last week.  He's a type 1 diabetic and in medical school - so he understands what "in the trenches" means on plenty of levels.  

Take it away, Adam!

*  *  *

So, cue up December 1, 2005. It is my second year of medical school. I’ve just come back from Thanksgiving break. My parents had complimented me on losing weight, and made mention of the fact that I almost single-handedly took down one of their Poland Spring tanks. I’m sitting in a lecture entitled “The Presenting Signs of Diabetes.” As I’m sitting there listening to the professor’s description of polydipsia (increased thirst), polyuria (increased urination), weight loss, and fatigue, my mind begins to go into its usual “Second Year-itis” routine … only I can’t shake the feeling that this is real.

If you’re reading this blog, chances are you can fill in the rest of the story. My first diagnosis in medical school was in fact myself.

Now fast-forward to third year of medical school. Third year is easily the toughest year for medical students, both intellectually and physically.  You leave the cozy confines of the lecture hall for the sterile floors of the hospital to practice your newly-learned skills as a diagnostician. The work can be, at times, very rigorous physically, as well as intellectually. I am lucky enough to be at a school where our “overnight call” (read: staying up all night) is kept to a minimum, but the demands of many of my rotations meant very long, odd hours. On my surgery rotation, for example, I would be at the hospital around 5:30 am to round on patients. Surgeries would begin at 7:00 am, sometimes lasting well past lunch. Surgeries could be scheduled in the afternoon, too, meaning we would have to wait until the late evening to round on patients again. With so much to do, and so many hours at the hospital…well, not much time built in for diabetes management. As opposed to the regimented, strictly scheduled second-year routine I had spent 6 months getting accustomed to (my only 6 months as a diabetic, mind you), I was now flung into the chaotic, regiment-less world of a hospital.   

Our fellow Type 1’s can relate to the fact that the world doesn’t wait for us. The rest of the world doesn’t want to wait 15 minutes to eat—they want to eat quickly and get right into the next patient’s room to keep the patient queue in check. The rest of the world doesn’t want us to scrub out from a surgery to check our sugar, they want me to keep holding traction so they can see the whole operating field. The patient will be alarmed, even in a noisy hospital setting, by the BEEEEEEEEEEEEP of my Dexcom, and will be even more confused when I have to excuse myself in the middle of a physical exam to check my sugar.
   
Reading other Type 1’s experiences on sites like Six Until Me, I know I’m not alone. I know we all deal with the frustrations of a world not waiting for us, of a world that just doesn’t get it — a world full of “real people.”  As a medical student, however, I’ve been given a crash course in how to deal with them.

I can only hope my experience has helped me become a better doctor — to understand my patients’ diseases and how frustrating it can be to deal with “real people” on a constant basis.  As doctors, we ARE the “real people”—we don’t know, for the most part, exactly what our patients are going through—but I at least have a head start in my training towards understanding the patients’ side of things.

Editor's note:  Thanks, Adam!  And more guest posts coming in the next few weeks!

Posted by Kerri Morrone Sparling at 07:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (18) | TrackBacks (0)