to be well
very much so
to be well
very much so
There are -or at least there should be- a few main constants in life:
On many Tuesdays in 2017 and 2018, I awoke to a single umbrella emoji texted from one of my best friends from college, Krissy:
And so, #TuesdayRain officially became ‘a thing.’
Tuesdays are notoriously busy- often jam-packed with work meetings, extracurricular activities, medical appointments, sporting events, dating, and the like- for me and my fellow Millennial friends. Eventually we noticed that during our hectic Tuesday pace, there was usually one predominant theme: rain. And in the winter, there was snow, which is just cold rain after all.
In 2017, Krissy and I lamented that we had not tracked the Tuesday weather on paper. The more we mentioned this phenomenon to others in our local area, the more heads nodded in confirmation of requiring raincoats on Tuesdays. In 2018, we resolved to document the Tuesday precipitation events on a calendar. Although analyzing the weather patterns of every day of the week would make for a more scientific inquiry, it surely would not be as fun. There’s just something about solo Tuesdays.
“Beautiful outside, isn’t it?” the parking lot attendant quips as I pull my car into the safety of the dry garage.
“It rains almost every Tuesday!” I retort, sprinting towards the office doors.
“Fun fact: Did you know that it has rained for 11 out of the past 12 Tuesdays?” became the most creative introductory line on dating apps this fall season, in our humble opinions.
The rain is my loyal companion when commuting to and from Tuesday doctor’s appointments in Boston traffic. No matter the health prognosis, life somehow goes on for the moment, as evidenced by the steady cadence of the droplets falling on the windshield.
“Look at that sky!” is how my doctor and I often begin our sessions.
In 2018, it precipitated on 29 Tuesdays in southern New England / Boston. November 2018 is particularly notable, having rained every Tuesday that month. For the record, the first day of 2019 was a Tuesday. And of course it rained! Our meticulous calendars reflect this data.
Yet, I also know this because my mind hones in on such dates and patterns, weaves the world together in this way.
I spent the larger part of my “adulting” years, unfortunately, yelling at God. “Why does my mind have to be stuck on that thought, that painful memory?!!” and so on. I lost so much time engaging in these cycles while somehow managing to survive, and, even, to succeed, at various endeavors. Now, I simply try to be cognizant of this concept and to move forward.
Despite the chaos, however, I have still experienced brief moments resembling peace, rare times when my mind was so fixated on the colorful pattern of the Oriental rug or the pitter-patter of the rain that I finally knew quiet in the midst of the loud.
#TuesdayRain has been that calming song, that unifying presence in the community, that dependable force no matter how turbulent the times. Truly good friends, good doctors, and heck, even good parking lot attendants, are hard to come by. How blessed are we to get to weather the storms in awe together.
*Calendar photo credits: Salve Regina University 2018 Calendar
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! May your ugly/cute sweater game always be on point!
See you in 2019!
Ally and Reese
Last year’s World Diabetes Day post honored those we have lost too soon due to insulin access issues, kicking off the tradition of a bittersweet yet necessary memorial. Let’s take a moment to honor those names again, as well as additions to the list, for WDD 2018:
*Stars indicate new names added to this year’s WDD blog
I know that my list this year is not fully extensive. While I have seen some news articles about insulin access deaths over the past 12 months, I admittedly do not know every name, nor many relevant details of each story. It is not my prerogative to add further pain to families who have lost loved ones by hypothesizing here. That said, if you have applicable names which you wish to add to our memorial, please contact me and we can update the list accordingly.
On World Diabetes Day 2018, I consider two main points:
I’d argue a more accurate headline would read: DISCONNECTED HEALTHCARE SYSTEM CONTRIBUTES TO YET ANOTHER PREMATURE DEATH OF A KIND PERSON WITH DIABETES
I look at the picture of Mr. Nicolas included in the news link above, and I see a human being. I see a person with diabetes. I see one of us.
I see a healthcare system that failed someone who sacrificed for us- a Veteran. Although there is an ongoing, polarized debate about police training in our country, I do not write this blog to fuel that discourse. I imagine outcomes like Mr. Nicolas’ case are always excruciating, no matter the perspective. As a general rule, I do not speculate on others’ mental health, so that won’t happen in this blog, either. The story speaks for itself, loudly and clearly.
When this article first circulated on Twitter, I noticed some bold commentary- the usual, “That could never be me or my loved one!” rationalization game that we all use to appease our own emotions from time to time.
“I’d never own one sword. Never mind two!”
“My blood sugar doesn’t get that out of whack!”
And the infamous, “Just get your insulin at Walmart, Susan!”
Ahem. Our “privilege goggles” have fogged our points of view again. Let’s get real: This could be any of us given the perfect storm of social determinants of health (SDOH) and circumstance. If not for our respective privileges of race, socioeconomic status, diabetes industry ties, psychosocial history, luck- whatever it may be- we very easily could be or could have been in Mr. Nicolas’ shoes, with swords in our hands, begging for our lives in the only conceivable remaining way.
Reflect on the worst low blood sugar of your life, when you were completely disoriented, slobbering on a jelly donut while the room spun in circles. Or, perhaps, remember when you were diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, in diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA), with a blood sugar of approximately 903 mg/dL. Scientifically-speaking, our brains were affected in both of those scenarios. We were not thinking clearly. We were desperate for help, and health, and relief.
Alas, when I look at Mr. Nicolas’ picture in the sword-wielding news article, I don’t see a man who was having a great day and picked up two swords for the heck of threatening others. I see a man who had to wield swords in order to be heard, for a moment in time. Without being able to obtain insulin, he was going to die. The tragedy is that before our society offered proactive help- affordable, accessible healthcare; emotional support resources; compassion rather than judgment- Mr. Nicolas’ life was lost too early.
How very much work we have left to do.
My prayers are with those missing loved ones gone too soon, all for reasons circling back to healthcare access. The numbers and the stories are too many over the years. The grief is overwhelming every time. By renewing attention to Mr. Nicolas’ story today, I do not intend to refresh the anguish of his family and friends. Rather, I want them to know that they have someone in their corner who believes them, and a world full of diabetes advocates who echo their passion to enact meaningful change.
May we continue to think of you and honor your stories, on World Diabetes Day and in all advocacy ventures going forward.
Very Light, No Sugar celebrates its fourth blogoversary today. I am typing this while sipping on a blueberry coffee with cream, of course. Some things never change…
Healthcare is keen on data, and I am humbled to note that VLNS has been read in 104 countries and counting since my first post in 2014. We surpassed the 100 countries mark this year, a feat that I never could have predicted those 4 years ago when I was sick on the couch with a defective insulin pump, simply setting out to blog in search of answers, advocacy, and support.
While my personal healthcare and advocacy journey has been marked with the typical waxing and waning, highs and lows analogous to life with type 1 diabetes, overall I am happy that this space exists. Where we go in the future is to be determined, but VLNS will forever be a part of my heart. And I am grateful for those of you who have loaned VLNS some space in your hearts as well.
I have admittedly been quieter on social media lately, and particularly, on this website. Perhaps my semi-silence is my own subconscious form of protest, the loudest way to express that I will never be okay with the clanging tambourine of the status quo in diabetes land. The older I get, the clearer it is to me that we have our work cut out for us. Perhaps I am the rogue #doc voice still figuring it all out, and I would be remiss to pretend to be anything else as a blogger.
Simply being alive, ~27.5 years after a T1D diagnosis, with health insurance and access to insulin, puts me in a very different position than most of the people living with diabetes worldwide. I pledge to continue to advocate for all of us. Sometimes that means taking a step back in order to stand up, to challenge the way things are and to remember the human faces behind why we need drastic change. Sometimes that means recognizing that my own voice doesn’t have to be the loudest in this moment; in fact, it is easier to hear the community vibe when I turn my own volume down and listen.
There are pillars of truth that have not changed in my 4 years here:
We need a cure.
We need inclusive community that is not scared of entertaining various viewpoints, that can agree to disagree, that lifts up rather than puts down. We need each other.
We need megaphones, and at times, we may need space.
We need a free, unbiased press and a healthcare industry that values humanity above all else; we need healthcare players who recognize that sometimes the will of The Whole may differ from the corporate office views.
We need affordable, accessible insulin.
We need blogs and tweets and advocacy actions. Look around. It’s working. I’m proud to call many of you my friends and fellow advocates.
Thank you for allowing Very Light, No Sugar to be part of the #doc fabric for the past 4 years. The diabetes landscape may change, for better or for worse, but our roots will always be strong.
writing shitty, third-string poetry. boldly dubbing it ‘poetry’ anyway. then rhyming poetry with poetry in a so-called poem. knowing that we all have to start somewhere and this is your clean slate. the previous writer at the coffee shop gifted a warm window seat, the free Wi-Fi password, and a slightly weathered stick of chalk, neon pink. the freckles on our fingertips glow in the dark.