HAWMC Day 7 – Pants On Fire!


For  your comedic pleasure, Wego Health’s writing challenge is to share a ridiculous headline or proposed cure about my condition and share how I feel about it. 

My problem?

Choosing just one. (I’m not linking any of the websites I found. Not giving them any play, even if we just want to rubberneck…)

Here are some of my favorites for Type 1:

  • I love the “Cure Type 1 Diabetes Naturally” website, where they say using the right combination of antioxidants (which they will GLADLY sell you…) has cured others. They claim:

One man actually reversed the disease itself, and is no longer diabetic! Absolutely unheard of!

Darn tootin’ that it’s absolutely unheard of, because it didn’t happen by using antioxidants. I take a antioxidant multivitamin on occasion and I’m not dancing in the aisles, waving my disconnected insulin pump over my head.

Liar, liar, pants on fire. 

  • What about bacteria that will cure Type 1? You mean, the kind that I already eat on a daily basis? 

…the oral administration of the genetically modified lactococcus bacteria, which is found in yoghurt…

I would eat vats of it. Bathe in it. Slather myself up and parade around town if I would be cured. So, survey says…. Buzz.

Liar, liar, pants on fire. 

  • Supplements can reverse Type 1 diabetes and cure us all? Really?

It is possible to cure diabetes with the use of supplements, like niacinamide and vitamin E.

So, a supplement (the fancy word for a vitamin) is going to cure me when thousands of scientists can’t find a cure? Gosh, we’ve been wasting all this money on research?

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  • Green smoothies? Raw diet? Gymnema sylvestre? Galega officinalis? Chromium Picolinate? Bilberry?

It makes me sad that there are people out there in the world who actually believe these charlatans and snake-oil hawkers. I think of all the damage they doing to themselves or their family members by placing their faith, money, and health in the hands of people who also probably believe that Elvis is still alive and hanging out with Jim Morrison.

Seriously, I’m getting tired of saying it, and if I actually set on fire every single “Cure Type 1 Diabetes Naturally” listing on Google, I would set….1,450,000 of them.

That’s a lot of pants. 


HAWMC Day 6 – Stop Stalking Me.


For the Wego Health Challenge, the idea today is to: Write a letter to your condition – what do you want to get off your chest?

Dear Diabetes:

Stop stalking me.

It’s been thirty years. Do you not get it by now? You creep me out, always lurking in the background, waving from the corner, letting me know you’re always here.

I see you. Believe me, I do. In every blood sugar check. In every lab result. In every glance in the mirror, looking like the Seven of Nine I am (without the boobs or the tight suit). There are days that you’re all I see, especially when I’m sick. I never know if I’m just “normal person sick” or “diabetes sick” or “normal person sick but diabetes gave you an extra somethin’ somethin’ just because…”.

I hear you. Beeping with my pump. Shrieking with my CGM. Hiccuping. (Yeah, that was an interesting low blood sugar symptom for a while. Nice touch.) Getting through meetings with you can be a total pain in the ass when you’ve decided to speak up unannounced. Making me cry has been a popular trick for you throughout the years. It’s no wonder why people don’t like you. You’re mean.

I feel you. In the middle of the night, shaking and shivering until a tepid juice box sends you slinking off into the darkness. Tattooing yourself in tiny pockmarked patterns on my fingers with pricks that still sting after all this time. Every needle inserted into my skin is a reminder that you are always there.

I taste you. That cloying dry Juicy Fruit sweetness of a long high. That rich coppery slickness of blood on my tongue after I check. That unwanted food that must be eaten when I’m not hungry. In all of these, I still taste the bitterness of you, diabetes.

Sending you on a vacation didn’t work. Ignoring you failed. You were still there, but brought friends over to party. Some friends, dude. Trigger finger? Frozen shoulder? Clinically significant macular edema? (Nice laser light show for the party when you showed up with him in tow.)

So, here’s the deal. While I’d love to tell you to meet other people, I wouldn’t want to burden anyone else with the remora-like  behavior that you exhibit.

This is what I have to offer:

You can chill here a little while longer, but no funny business.

See, there are new friends I want you to meet and they’re going to eventually become my new bodyguards. Meet JDRF’s Artifical Pancreas Project and Beacon Hill’s Bionic Pancreas. They’ll keep me safe until the big guns arrive to kick your ass to the curb. I’m not quite sure who it will be at this point. Could be someone out of Dr. Denise Faustman’s Lab or Diabetes Research Institute. Hell, maybe even someone I haven’t met yet.

I don’t like you. Never have, never will. You’re a leech, trying to suck the life out of everyone who is unfortunate enough to be in your presence. This has to stop. You can’t have my life. It’s not yours to take. We can agree to disagree on how my pancreas should treat me, but I won’t waver on one thing…

You will stop stalking me soon.

Bet on it.