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Posts from the ‘Psychosocial Support’ Category

Mystery Date.

There was a board game marketed to girls back in the 60’s that resurfaced again in the 90’s, and that’s when I met Mystery Date.  It was a silly game where you tried to assemble an outfit for a date and then you opened the little plastic door to see if your outfit matched that of the Mystery Date guy.  (For example: if you had assembled the “beach” outfit and opened the door to reveal the guy dressed for a “formal dance,” you lost … the game, and also 20 minutes of your life to this stupid, sexist game.)

But Mystery Date popped into my head for a reason.  Since having my son, I’ve been working to wean myself off the Boston-based care team in pursuit of more hyper-local providers (and because I loathe the arrival/departure board at Joslin).  The promise of pregnancy now the past, I don’t feel the same push to make the long ass drive to Boston in order to meet my medical needs.  So in the last few weeks, I’ve been working to assemble a new, short-drive team of healthcare providers.  I currently have new appointments with an OB/Gyn, a primary care doctor, and am gently shopping for a new endocrinologist.  (I plan to keep seeing the team at Boston to track my existing eye complications, as I don’t want that crap going off the rails.)

Finding new providers is kind of like Mystery Date.  I spend a lot of time combing my insurance company’s website to see who is covered by my plan, then calling those HCPs to see if they are taking new patients, and then getting all of my records shipped from previous providers to the new team.  Then I open the little plastic … I mean, the regular-sized medical office door to see if what I’ve assembled matches what’s being provided.

Finding a new healthcare provider is similar to starting a relationship.  There’s this slightly awkward breaking in period where you are both getting to know one another, and then either the confirmation that, yes, personalities and needs are lining up or NO WAY expectations are way maligned.  For me, I crave a personal relationship with my healthcare team, one that the healthcare system barely makes room for.  Being treated as a whole person provides the best health outcomes for me; it’s important for my team to see my health concerns in the context of real life.

Otherwise, it’s like showing up dressed for the BIG SKI TRIP only to see that your healthcare professional is more into a romantic picnic.  Or worse …  the experience goes full DUD.


Diabetes Blog Week: Language and Diabetes.

Language and Diabetes:  There is an old saying that states “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”. I’m willing to bet we’ve all disagreed with this at some point, and especially when it comes to diabetes. Many advocate for the importance of using non-stigmatizing, inclusive and non-judgmental language when speaking about or to people with diabetes. For some, they don’t care, others care passionately. Where do you stand when it comes to “person with diabetes” versus “diabetic”, or “checking” blood sugar versus “testing”, or any of the tons of other examples? Let’s explore the power of words, but please remember to keep things respectful.

(And for more on the topics of Diabetes Blog Week 2016, click here.)

Language matters.  The words we use matter.

Some words make me all fired up, like “consumer.”  I am a consumer when it comes to cars, or coats, or snow blowers.  When it comes to diabetes, I’m not a consumer.  I would never choose to consume these goods; they are chosen out of the desire to stay alive.  I don’t like “suffering from diabetes” because it makes me feel weak and compromised, which stands in contrast to where I prefer to anchor my emotions about diabetes.  And I totally hate the concept of “good” and “bad” blood sugars.  That whole ideology can fuck off in favor of “in range” and “out of range.”

I appreciate the word “complications” because its connotation is perfect for how I feel about diabetes-related complications; that shit is complicated.  I like the word “empowered” because it reminds me that I have a say in how this whole life maps out, diabetes or not.  I like any words and phrases that tie the physical aspects of diabetes to the emotional ones.  I latch on actively to “hope” versus fear.  And I like being called “Kerri” instead of “diabetic,” but hey, that’s just me.

(And I really like certain curse words, but I am trying to use those less, but it’s difficult.  I don’t make insulin, I do make use of curse words.  It’s a terrible habit, but one I am not changing.)

But it’s not about the words we shouldn’t use, or the ones that seem potentially loaded.  This morning, after hearing about the death of a fellow advocate (outside of the diabetes space), I’m spinning with thoughts of the words I wish I used more, the things I wish I said.  The things I should say.

Like “thanks for sharing this.”  I think this every time I read a blog post, or a Tweet, or a Facebook update from someone and it makes me stop and think.  The DOC is filled with voices that challenge what I thought I knew, and who teach me how to re-examine my chronic illness with grace and determination or perspective or humility … or all of it.  I like the way they think.  I like what they say.

And “How are you feeling today?”  I interact with a lot of people touched by illness – patients, consumers, caregivers … whatever word words for you in this way – and their stories touch me.  A lot of the time, I absorb what they’re saying and store it away in my head, but I want to reach out more, ask “how are you feeling today?”  I want the people in our community, and outside of it, to know how much I appreciate what it takes to share their stories, even when they are worn out by doing it, by living it.  A little ask goes a long way.

Or “You aren’t alone; how can I help?”  Because sometimes people share to get things off their chest (“I hate low blood sugars!”), but other times they reach out in hopes of someone reaching back (“I feel so alone with diabetes.”)  Words matter, and hearing, “You aren’t alone; how can I help?” might make a difference.

And “I’m sorry.”  Because I am.

But mostly “thank you” and sometimes, “I love you.”  Over the last few years, there have been people who have come and gone from my life that left lasting impressions, and I bet I didn’t tell them “thank you” and “I love you” nearly as much as I should have.  I know I thought it – thought it a lot after they were gone – but I should have said it then.  When they were here.  When they could hear me and understand the influence they’ve had on my life, the positive mark they’ve left on my existence, and the ways they’ve rocked my world for the better.

Words matter.  Stories matter.  People matter.  So thank you.  And even though you’re reading these words on a glowing screen and we’re communicating mostly through a digital medium, you are part of a community that has forever changed me.


Diabetes Blog Week: Message Monday.

It’s Diabetes Blog Week, a week in the year where diabetes bloggers can rally together and share their stories, following suggested (but not mandated!) themes and focusing on connecting with one another as a community.  And who better to closely knit our community together than Karen (who is known in my household as “The Knitter“)?  Karen kindly brings us closer on Diabetes Blog Week by inspiring others to raise their voices.  So let’s do that.

Message Monday:  Lets kick off the week by talking about why we are here, in the diabetes blog space. What is the most important diabetes awareness message to you? Why is that message important for you, and what are you trying to accomplish by sharing it on your blog? (Thank you, Heather Gabel, for this topic suggestion.)

My blog started back in May of 2005, admittedly mostly because I was lonely with diabetes.  I had lots of friends and community outside of my busted pancreas, but no one in my life who “got it.”  That frustrated me.  Made me feel lonely.  Contributed to feelings of isolation.

So I Googled “diabetes” and a long list of shit that would go wrong with my body as I aged came back as a search return.  Not fun.  At the time, I was 25 years old.  I wasn’t ready to think about my chronic illness in terms of a ticking clock.  I wanted more reasons to live, and live well, instead of reasons why I should tuck my islets between my legs (ew) and get ready to die.

Eff that.  I want to have a proper life after diagnosis, not one that’s dominated by fear.  Gimme some hope.

Which brought me to the blogosphere over a decade ago, and that desire to connect with people who intimately understand diabetes is what drives me to stay here.

Over the course of the last eleven years, my “message” has changed.  I’ve changed, so that makes sense.  When I was in my mid-twenties, I wanted to find others who were interviewing for jobs, starting relationships, living on their own, and making their way as an adult … with diabetes.  Confirming that a community existed, and was accessible, lit me up proper.

As I got older, I was interested in hearing about successful parenting with diabetes.  Not exclusively about pregnancy, because that’s not a thing for everyone, but about how families expanded through whatever means they felt were right, either through biological children, or adopted, or fostered, or kids of the decidedly furrier variety.  I really took a lot of pride in sharing my pregnancy six years ago, and again now, because it wasn’t perfect, or seamless, or without issue but hell, it was mine.  And it what I worked for.  And it was worth it.

When there were complications, I felt comforted by the community who had been there before me, and by the hope they provided as to life after diagnosis.  Same goes for diabetes-related depression.  Same goes for infertility.

Same goes for any moment in the last eleven years where I’ve felt alone or potentially isolated, but the community taps me on the shoulder and goes, “Wait.  You aren’t alone.  Turn around; we’re all in this together.”

There’s a level of support found in our community that I can’t properly say thank you for.  But I’m thankful.

Why am I here?  To share my story, as ever-changing as it may be.  To make a difference.  The stuff I share from my digital soapbox grows as I grow, leaving my goal simply to connect with my peers and to live well.  What am I trying to accomplish?  I still don’t know, but I have seen that I accomplish more, live more when I feel the support of community.

I don’t have a set “message,” but I do have a life, and it’s worth documenting if only to prove to myself that diabetes will not bring me down.

If anything, with the help of our community, I’ll force it to raise me up.

Perspectives on Diabetes: Why Children with Diabetes Matters.

People ask me why this conference matters, why the organization matters, and it’s sometimes hard to sum up.  What’s so great about sitting in a room full of people with diabetes?  Isn’t it like surrounding yourself with a reminder of something that is a pain in the butt (diabetes)?  Doesn’t it suck to talk about diabetes all the time?

DUDE.  NO.  This is kind of the opposite.  Being around people who understand diabetes doesn’t breed a boatload of discussion about it.  Instead, I’m sitting at a lunch table with folks who know the ins and outs of diabetes, but we don’t shout out our blood sugar results or bolus amounts.  It’s not like that.  We’re talking about what our lives are like outside of diabetes, about the life we build that includes diabetes, not built around diabetes.

People with diabetes wear green bracelets, to both alert to potential emergency situations (you see a green bracelet in distress, think glucose tabs in a hurry) but the green also threads together the people who are playing host to diabetes.

A quick glance at someone’s wrist lets you know that they get it.

Sometimes, when days are kind of rough, I’ll put on a green bracelet to remind myself that I am not alone. Support from the community is as important as the insulin I take; both keep me healthy, and keep me going.

But it’s not just the green bracelets that make this community so powerful. Orange bracelets are given to folks who don’t have diabetes, but who remain touched by diabetes.  My daughter and my mother came to Friends for Life with me a few years ago, and they were also able to connect with their respective tribes, the orange braceleters. My mother, after decades of raising me without a vast diabetes support network, was immersed in a sea of parents who understood so much of what she’s experienced as my parent. And my daughter, her understanding of mom’s diabetes expanding with time, was able to hang out with other little kids who had parents with diabetes.

This kind of support, community … whatever you want to call it, it matters.  I mean, you’re here reading on a diabetes-centric blog, for crying out loud.  Clearly we, as a group, have a pull towards one another and benefit from connecting.  For me, knowing I’m not the only PWD (person with diabetes) on the planet makes diabetes easier to handle.  This is a hard thing to build studies around and quantify how it affects health outcomes, but taking my insulin is easier when my mental health receives care.  My A1C has been consistently steadier since engaging with the community.  My level of diabetes health literacy has grown by leaps and bounds.  And diabetes scares me less, on the whole, because I am surrounded by people who are in it with me.

Whole person health, remember?  Diabetes doesn’t exist in a damn vacuum.

The annual Friends for Life conference is coming up this July, and if you haven’t checked out the conference, now is the best time.  There are also other regional conferences (Anaheim in September, Falls Church this past April) that offer the same connection and community on a slightly smaller scale.

Full disclosure:  I’m a board member for T-1 Today, which is the parent non-profit organization for Children with Diabetes.  My bias includes that, and the fact that I haven’t produced any insulin for the last 30 years.  If you’re an organization interested in finding out more about how to make a tangible difference in the diabetes community, please connect with me.  And if you are interested in making a charitable donation to support the organization, click here.  And thank you!

SUM Related posts:

Looking Back: Diabetes Back in the Day.

This week is school vacation week for Birdzone, which means there’s plenty of Bird-watching and not a whole lot of inbox-management.  (Unless it’s after midnight … which is when all work-from-home happens … that’s normal, right?  So are these bags under my eyes, right?)  Which means that I might be re-visiting a few posts here and there.  Starting with today, and a look back at how diabetes has shown up in my diaries from years ago.

   *   *   *

Last night, I found a box of old diaries.  I’ve been keeping a paper journal since I was seven years old and I have so many hardcover journals with cats and flowers and balloons on them, my handwriting maturing as steadily and awkwardly as my content.

It’s strange, though, to see how little focus I put on diabetes in my previous journaling.  Most of my earlier journals (eight, ten years old at the time) talk about a boy I had a crush on in fourth grade or roller skating on the weekends or battling with my brother and sister.  But there were a few entries in particular that spoke to life with diabetes.  And while I’m not quite ready to recount the long, dramatic entry about my first kiss (gah!), I wanted to share snippets of my diabetes diary from my teenage years (these entries are from when I was 14 and 15):

May 13, 1993:  Beavis and Butthead is over.  It was strange, because they were in school and in home economics.  Their assignment was to carry around a back of sugar as a “baby.” But Butthead said he couldn’t do it because he was “diatetic.”  The teacher reprimanded him by saying, “That’s DIABETIC, and yes you can do this.”  I’m not exactly sure why, but that comment bothered me.  Alot.  I think it’s because I’m so sensitive about being a diabetic.  It makes me wonder how handicapped people feel about ‘HandyMan’ on In Living Color.  If I feel offended about an off-handed comment, how would someone else feel about a recurring segment?

Was this one of the first moments of diabetes in the mainstream media that I can remember?  I honestly can recall being affected by this, and wishing Butthead had said “diabetes” correctly.

June 27, 1994:  Today, my mother was talking with [name redacted] about diabetes camp and I couldn’t help but overhear.  She said, “As soon as Kerri left, we all relaxed and lead a normal two weeks free of worries and medical stuff.”  Am I a burden to my family?  Do they resent my diabetes?  Do I have a “normal” life?

This isn’t to call my mother out for saying this.  I’ve heard a lot of parents say the same thing about the weeks that their child is away at diabetes camp.  Diabetes requires parents to think on their feet all the time, so the reprieve of having their child away and under constant and capable medical care must have been such a nice break.

Funny – I’ve always wanted a break from it, too.

July 6, 1994:  I leave for Clara Barton Camp on Sunday.  I love camp.  We are all incredibly goofy and loved.  It is such a cool feeling to have people who understand it to talk to.  Sometimes I feel alienated at home because I am the only diabetic around.  No one seems to understand the emotions I feel concerning diabetes.  I am frustrated and angry sometimes, and other times I feel bad for myself.  Sometimes I even want sympathy, and that’s confusing because I say I don’t want to be treated differently at the same time.  It’s weird, though, because I want to be able to control every aspect of my health, so when my health emotions get all crazy, I feel like I’m going nuts.  At least at CBC I’m not the only one who feels that way.  If I tried explaining that to my friends, they’d look at me like I was nutso.

Ah, my longing for a diabetes community, even before I knew there would be one online.  🙂

And this paper was shoved into my diary from 1991, written on school paper and smelling softly of pencil boxes and recess.  It speaks volumes about how much a 12 year old kid grasps about guilt and diabetes:

A 12 yr old's diabetes to-do list.

It’s a lot to carry.  I felt so alone.  And as I read through these diaries late into last night, I was again grateful to know I’m not the only person out there living with this.  The power of this community is tremendous.  I also realized how everything has changed, but at the same time, nothing has changed.


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