As Emily’s parents told me she had been bullied for her diabetes, especially the fact that she wore a CGM, I glanced over and saw the sad look in her eyes. I knew that even though I didn’t think my talking to her would do much, I had to try. Every time I had an opportunity to talk to Emily one-on-one, she asked sincere questions, and truly wanted to know my answers. Had I ever been made fun of for having diabetes? Had I ever felt self conscious about it? How did I come to love myself in spite of living with the disease?
Category: Living
D-Mom Kim Savage embraced raising her young son with Type 1 diabetes while going full on chasing her dream, too. Now, her son with diabetes is a teenager and her career is on the brink of superstardom thanks to a three book deal with the prestigious publishing group of Farrar, Straus & Giroux/Macmillan.
My new book, VITAMANIA: Our Obsessive Quest for Nutritional Perfection is being published today by Penguin Press. It’s about the history of vitamins and how they’ve influenced the way we think about nutrition.
Type 1 Diabetes Memes became the place where people could laugh and bond over their frustrations, like their pump tubing getting caught on door handles, or someone asking them if they ate too much sugar as a child. Type 1 Diabetes Memes also became a place to poke fun at a disease that can be so daunting and frustrating.
Diabetes is rarely a glamorous condition, and that’s especially true when it comes to stashing and transporting all the high- and low-tech doodads we use to keep ourselves healthy. While most glucometers come with their own black vinyl zipper cases, you don’t have to be stuck with factory-issued fashion. Both men and women with diabetes have options than you may think.
Sweet Tooth is Tim Anderson’s memoir of homosexuality, high school, the eighties, and diabetes, all south of the Mason-Dixon line. This seems like a recipe for disaster, but luckily things don’t go as badly as you might imagine.
I watched a controversial video documentary on The New York Times’s web site, Midnight Three & Six, about a family pummeled by life with their fifteen-year-old daughter Grace’s volatile type 1 diabetes. One parent or another gets up to check Grace every three hours at night, to make sure she doesn’t die in her sleep. “Every three hours keeps her safe,” says Grace’s mother.
My son was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes two Septembers ago. Our story’s probably a lot like other ones you hear: there was a frantic trip to a hospital, a period of shock—He has what?—followed by the anger, then mourning that comes with realizing your child is completely dependent on a drug for survival and will forever cope with a condition that requires round-the-clock maintenance—maintenance that comes with never-ending ups and downs.
I will never forget the story I heard from Life for a Child several years ago about the children who stood at the end of a village road waiting for insulin to arrive from aid workers, crying when a vial fell to the ground and shattered. I weep when I think of those little ones watching that hope and hopelessness pool into the cracks of the dry earth.
I once heard the mother of a child with diabetes express her disgust with the word “bolus.” As it turns out, a bolus is “a small rounded mass of a substance, especially of chewed food at the moment of swallowing.” A mouthful of chewed-up pizza at the back of your throat, basically.