Shoot Up or Put Up

Long term readers of your soaraway Shoot Up will recall that last year in the run up to the Edinburgh International Festival (the world’s largest arts festival™) my friend Dave drafted “Diabetes: The Musical!” You can read all about it here and here, if you dare.

So it’s that time of year again when seemingly half of the USA comes to Edinburgh to sit in packed out venues watching half-baked comedy acts; hurrah for the Festival and Fringe! But as part of the Festival at large there is also a television festival. We all know that diabetics are woefully and diabolically under-represented on the small screen, so I have started to write a wonderful new soap opera – dubbed “Insulin Square”. Set in the east end of London, Insulin Square is a nightly soap opera where every single character is diabetic.

I hope, nay guarantee, it will be commissioned and in your living room before the year is out. I’ve published the first scene here and more will follow very, very soon. Enjoy!

Insulin Square

OPENING THEME TUNE.

INT. DAY – INSULIN SQUARE CAFÉ. Two friends DEREK and SUSAN are conversing over a pot of tea

DEREK …so when the specialist nurse said to me “did I bring a urine sample?” I says to her “why? Are you taking the piss?” (laughs uproariously)
SUSAN (giggles) You never
DEREK I did so. I bet she’d never heard that one before; she didn’t know where to look.
SUSAN (wiping tear of mirth from eye) You really are a card Derek, you really are.
DEREK Thanks treacle. (pause) Speaking of which, I better inject for the seventeen spoons of sugar I’ve just had in my tea
SUSAN Seventeen? Ain’t that a bit much?
DEREK Nah treacle, I’m on multiple daily injections now; I can eat what I want and inject the right amount of humalog to cover my carbohydrate intake.
SUSAN Ohhh, that sounds awful technical. Wouldn’t it be easier to just have less sugar, like what I do?
DEREK Nah, treacle; multiple daily injections is where it’s at.
SUSAN So you mean there’s no need for me to make my own insulin anymore?
DEREK Yer what, treacle? You make your own insulin? Are you kiddin’ me?
SUSAN Well yeah, Derek. Every morning the local abattoir delivers a dozen pigs round to my back door; I slaughter them in the parlour; gut them; extract the pancreases; grind them up; filter them; centrifuge out the gore; extract the insulin and then finally inject the bloody – but insulin infused – residue.
DEREK Blimey, treacle, that sounds really hard work
SUSAN Oh it is, it is. And I’ve got to do it every day. But that’s how I was taught to do it by Glasgow NHS Health Board. They told me it was cutting edge stuff [a little bit of satire there –Tim]
DEREK Nah, my love, you want multiple daily injections.
SUSAN Coor
DEREK Tell you what, (pause, nervous) I’ve got an appointment down the diabetic clinic next Monday. Why don’t you come with me? Maybe they could sort you out with something?
SUSAN (blushes) Derek, would this be a date? Like a proper date?
DEREK (embarrassed) Well if you put it like that, then, well… Listen Susan (takes her hand) there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you…

(café door tinkles; enter STEVE – youngish, handsome, smartly and trendily dressed)

STEVE (talking into mobile phone) …yeah, yeah, listen I’ll see you in Lausanne. Ciao. (sees SUSAN; smoothly) Hey, Susan! Long time, no see, babe.
DEREK (frosty) Hello Steve. Back from Lausanne I see.
STEVE (to DEREK but looking at SUSAN) Yeah Derek; just flew into Luton this morning. easyJet flight then taxi to the train station. Susan, I must say you are looking ravishing today
SUSAN (blushing) Oh Steve!
DEREK Sorry Steve, but me and Susan were in the middle of a conversation. Quite an important conversation. Do you mind?
STEVE Don’t worry about me Derek; I just came in to show Susan my new pump!
DEREK A pump? You have a pump? How did you get hold of one?
STEVE Let’s just say I have connections, Derek.
SUSAN Oh, Steve, a pump? That’s much better than those silly injections isn’t it?
STEVE Sure is, babe. Take a look at this (proffers pump). Two grands worth of latest, tip top  Medtronic technology. CGM sensors, insulin reservoir, 40cm of plastic tubing. The lot. Check it out.
SUSAN Oooooh. That’s wonderful…very impressive (looks admiring at STEVE, while DEREK looks on, crestfallen)

CUT.

To be continued…

The best copyright-free ABBA-related picture I could find, unfortunately

Since the discovery of insulin by Banting & Best in 1922 there have been millions of pounds spent on diabetes research each and every year since. Such research has been of huge benefit to the diabetic community, with meta studies advocating the advantages of multiple daily injections, balanced diets and so on which have helped mitigate the terrible consequences this affliction can impose on its many victims.

However all this is nought compared to your soaraway Shoot Up’s latest research. It’s well known that the link between everyone’s favourite Swedish pop band and pancreatic disorders is clear (so clear, I’m not going to insult you by detailing it here). So here at Shoot Up we conducted research into the ABBA preference of users by asking new users of the blog and forums what their favourite ABBA song was as part of the sign up process.

Needless to day our research into the favourite ABBA songs of diabetes is a world first, truly groundbreaking and can’t, I think, be rivalled for it’s coverage of this critical issue.

Anyway, the results are enlightening, with popular track Dancing Queen coming out on top by a huge margin. My personal favourite, Waterloo, came second and was followed up in third place with pop classic Winner Takes It All with 10.6% of the vote.

Runners up included Mama Mia, Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight) and Alan Partridge favourite Knowing Me, Knowing You (ah-hhhhaaaaaaa!). All worthy songs by anyone’s standards. There was a bunch of also rans which we won’t go into here – though shockingly the marvellous Super Trooper sadly languished down the bottom of the table with a mere 2.1% of the vote.

So there we have it the world’s first ever and most detailed ever diabetic ABBA song preference survey in the world, ever. Don’t say we aren’t good to you.

Those results in full:

Top songs:

Dancing Queen > 25.5% of the vote
Waterloo > 12.8%
Winner Takes It All > 10.6%

Bubbling under:

Fernando > 6.4%
Mamma Mia > 6.4%
Take a Chance on Me! > 6.4%
Gimme Gimme Gimme > 4.3%
Knowing Me Knowing You > 4.3%
Thank You for the Music > 4.3%

Also rans:

Bang-A-Boomerang > 2.1%
Does Your Mamma Know > 2.1%
I Had A Dream > 2.1%
Lay All Your Love On Me > 2.1%
My Love My Life > 2.1%
Our Last Summer > 2.1%
Super Trooper > 2.1%
The Day Before You Came > 2.1%
Voulez Vous > 2.1%

Loyal ShootUp fans already know that my insulin pump has a mind of its own that it vents publicly on occasion. The next big question in life is whether my pancreas is equally opinionated. 

I’ve always imagined my pancreas to be a pretty quiet, reserved type of organ. But have I misjudged it? My pancreas could have any number of attitudes towards life: 

Laid back – I’ve taken a bit of a back seat over the last 27 years, she seems to cope well enough doing my job for me so I just keep my head down.  

Guilty – I am the weakest link. I’m the cause of so many problems. The kidneys won’t even talk to me because they say I’m not pulling my weight to keep them healthy.

Smug – I am the centre of all attention, my lack of function puts me right at the top of the list of body organs she thinks about or talks about. My ego is barely contained within my 6 inch body.

Arrogant – She calls herself pancreatically challenged, but I’ll have you know I still do many important jobs. So the islets of Langerhans don’t work as they should, but lets get this in perspective, I still do the other bit of my job to high standard. No one can beat me when it comes to secreting enzymes into the digestive system to help break down carbohydrates and protein.

Or perhaps it’s just a mute body organ without the capability of rational thought? That would be a disappointment.

We pancreatically-challenged types are of course a generally lovely bunch, but above and beyond that I think we have some qualities that make us very useful to have around:

• We’re rarely found without a tempting stash of goodies, and if you’re nice to us we can sometimes be persuaded to share.
• We can be deployed as a secret weapon when you’ve been waiting hours for food in a restaurant. “My friend is a diabetic and needs food now” gets thing moving surprisingly quickly.
• We can be relied upon to have a giant bag full of diabetes junk, meaning that your wallet/camera/sunscreen can easily fit in there too.
• When travelling, our long winded explanations about insulin pumps at airport security act as a great decoy while you smuggle through those extra bottles of moisturiser you forgot you had in your hand luggage.
• If you get stuck in a really dull meeting and want an excuse to escape, a pancreatically challenged person experiencing a strategic hypo always needs someone to go with them to help out.
• Need a sterile needle to burst a blister? Look no further.
• Worried about a family member and want a quick diabetes test – we’re always on call.
• We’re the nearest you’re going to get to a walking dietary advisor. Want to know whether something has lots of sugar in it? Need help reading a nutritional label? Your friendly diabetic has more experience than most in this area.

And finally, any social event is always improved by a spontaneous hypo resulting in hilarious behaviour which provides people with amusing tales to reminisce over for years.

Get more out of your friends, choose a diabetic friend.

Nectar of the gods!

By Samantha

The dreaded hypo’s are back. Uh-oh. Man the barricades. When I have bad hypos, I turn into something like the monster from the black lagoon, all growly, pale and nasty. And over the past week or so, I’ve been having some rather nasty ones in the vein of at least two a day whereupon my poor other half has to pour copious amounts of apple juice down my throat.

Yesterday, we decided to go shopping. And the supermarket we decided on was about a half hour walk away. Fifteen minutes down the road, I start noticing some weirdness going on with my eyes. Then the legs start shaking and the words start slurring.

“I dunt feel fery well…”

I’m trying to get my point across to my other half in the middle of a very busy street. Things are blurry and the world is spinning, and he laughs at me for a moment before making me sit on a wall and making me check my blood sugar.

“Oh dear…I think you need some sugar”

With eyes that seem to be making the world jump around and have a crazy party, I see the number on my meter. 1.6mmol/L. And silly little hypo me starts panicking and, with what must have been rather funny for any passers-by, I tip my handbag all over the pavement. My purse starts rolling away, my gloves flop uselessly on the pavement and various receipts start flying away. In my lack of sugar state, I’m trying to find myself some glucotabs. And I can’t. There is nothing in my handbag.

And then, to make matters just that tad more embarrassing. I start crying. My poor other half helps me put my things back in my handbag before helping me to my feet. Something is muttered about always making sure I have something on me, how come this time I don’t. So our next mission, should we choose to accept it, is to find me some juice. I’m muttering all the way to co-op about wanting juice.

“I want some juice. I need it. I’m soooooooooo hungrrryyyyyyyy”

It earns me yet more funny looks, but I stumble on with a grin. And then, I magically find some chocolate in my coat pocket. And it’s good chocolate, half a bar of Thorntons milk chocolate. It’s thrown in my mouth with the fervour of someone who hasn’t eaten in days. And then the hunger starts. My tummy rumbles so loud that my other half looks at me with raised eyebrows, “Hungry honey?”

I fall into Co-Op, and mutter something to the employee stood at the counter “I need juice. Where’s your juice?”

He points me in the right direction. And I see the biggest drinkable bottle of juice in history. It’s huge. And it’s shining at me, like gold. DRINK ME. DRIIINNNKKK MEEEE. So I grab it, and in the process end up knocking half of the other bottles over with a crash. But I don’t care; I rush over to the counter, drop a pound on the side and start chugging that sweet, sweet orange juice. The cashier is looking at me funny, and I grin at him.

“Diabetic” I say with a goofy grin, “Hypo diabetic. Not good. Need juice”

He just smiles and nods and I go back outside. The world is coming into focus by now; after all I’ve just polished off 500ml of orange juice. And that’s when I start feeling like a prat.

“Seriously…how much did I embarrass myself there?” I ask my other half.

He just looks at me with a grin and shrugs, no answer given. It’s probably best for him not to tell me I think, as we make our way around to the supermarket, where I still want to eat everything.

—————

Samantha is Type One and regularly blogs at http://www.talkingbloodglucose.com/

Me vs my grandad. Yesterday

Christmas. It’s a time for family, a time for sharing things, a time for complete overindulgence. But in my family its also time for the dreaded blood sugar wars. You see, both of my grandparents are diabetic. They’re Type II, both on insulin (and my grandmother with an insulin pump) and I have to say, my grandfather absolutely adores to try and beat me in the blood sugar stakes! And usually he wins.

“What’s your sugars Sam?” he asks every morning, only for me to look at him and say something along the lines of “7.2…” or “6.3” or as it was the other morning, “15.2…” And every morning I get a grin, “I beat you. Mine is x.x”. And every single morning I growl at him and tell him how much I dislike him and his good blood sugar levels.

It usually ends up with a lot of stick beating, handbags at dawn and of course the age old favourite of a renactment of the battle of Hastings. I kid you not, it’s that bad. It happens every Christmas without fail. The blood sugar wars, whereupon I lose in a not-so-valiant way, give up and end up eating chocolate cake. The only problem with this however is that the sugars go through the roof, and I end up being laughed at by granddad, who has a much better level than me. Never mind, eh?

I have to say, I had the last laugh after Christmas dinner, when granddad’s sugars were higher than mine. I was a humble 5.6 whereas he was up at 8.something or other. Excellent! It’s all in good fun though. It wouldn’t be Christmas without a bit of friendly diabeticesque rivalry in the Morris household! It has to be done, when the majority of people in said house are pancreatically challenged!

Although I have to say, it gets rather confusing when my grandmother has the same blood glucose machine as me…I wondered why my levels were coming out reading 100 or more. Silly French system!

Though this got me wondering, do any of you have blood sugar wars? Or play swap the numberwang? Maybe that’s just me then…

I hope you all had a fantastic Christmas and have a brilliant New Year!!!!!

The Portaloo. My new best friend

By Samantha

So on Thursday of last week, after dragging myself out of bed at 5.30 in the am and chilling out with a nice few (four!) coffees to get myself ready for the day, I inadvertently found myself rushing like a lunatic to get everything ready and get my backside out of the door at 7.15.

Now of course, usually I’m alright at doing this and if I forget anything usually realise within moments of getting out of the door. Except on this particular Thursday, I was almost twenty minutes down the road when I realised that I had forgotten a few very important things.

First of all, the pills I take for my so called foot issues and then I realised with horror as I was nearing work that I had forgotten to put a new pot of test strips into my kit bag. I honestly wanted to slap myself across the face and yell obscenities at myself for doing so, but of course, wandering down the road in the middle of Southampton muttering to yourself isn’t exactly going to go down well is it? And I didn’t particularly fancy being carted off in a white van.

So instead I phone my other half and moan down the phone at him about how stupid I am and end up bursting into tears. It’s a scary thought, being at work without test strips or the pills that mean my feet will actually function without shooting pains. But I guess I had to deal with it. I was too far away to walk home as that would have meant being late for work, so I told myself I’d get on with it.

And I really wish I had gone home and gotten these supplies.

Up until lunch, things were relatively fine. I had enough test strips to see me through till lunch but of course, me being me I was wandering around this busy, hellish archaeological/building site having a right mooey all day. And in the end I got so fed up I went to the shop and brought myself the biggest chocolate bar I could find for my lunch. Except, lunch was my last test strip. And I was getting really concerned that I hadn’t taken this tablet too, searching frantically in my bag for anything resembling a strong painkiller. Thankfully I had something with me, and by lunchtime I needed it because I was seriously feeling the cold (thank you poor circulation) and nasty shooting pains in my feet matched up with numb toes (thank you transient peripheral neuropathy…not!).

And then, I think the hyper started. The thirst kicked in and I kept running backwards and forwards to the horrible plastic portaloo. Except I couldn’t test my blood because I had run out of test strips. Cue panic. And by this stage I had been sent to the office to do paperwork, so instead of sitting there doing ‘very important work’, I was pacing backwards and forwards trying to work out a solution to the tiny little problem in front of me.

It’s worth noting too, that this ‘neuropathy’ really sinks its teeth in when the bloods are high. And even if it looks amusing when I’m hopping around yelling obscenities, it’s really not.

Forgetting stuff. It’s something I do a lot. It’s assumed everything is always where it should be when I run out of the door, and when it’s not it feels as if that carefully built word of diabetes is slowly starting to crumble. And it’s even worse when you get out and realise that you should have changed your insulin, because now you’ve run out. But let’s be honest, I’m sure we’ve all done it and all felt like muppets when we realise. And spending the day hungry due to being forgetful isn’t very nice. I guess it happens though, we all do it.

It just makes you feel really stupid when things happen that could be avoided. And playing a guessing game with the blood sugars is just silly. I had no idea what I was running at and spent most of the afternoon feeling horrific, yet I could have been running low and have no idea about it. So one thing’s for sure, I certainly won’t be leaving the house without this stuff again in the near future. Yet saying that, what’s the betting that come next week, something else will be forgotten. Although saying that, I walked out of the house without my trowel this morning – my archaeology soul right there…and also my lunch. But that’s a different story for a different day!

—————

Samantha is Type One and regularly blogs at http://www.talkingbloodglucose.com/

Following on from last week’s post about a diabetes-related musical, my chum Dave took it upon himself to sketch out a rough draft for a plot. Therefore for your enjoyment, fun and entertainment I present the first draft of:

Diabetes: The Musical
Or “A spoonful of medicine helps the sugar go down”.

Act the First

Power-crazy, evil banker ditches lovely girlfriend Mindy for sharp-dressing power-mad tart Sadistica. [Song: "(I'm) No Sweetheart" - think Big Spender but evil, by evil banker.]

Evil banker then has ex-girlfriend sacked by devious means to get her away from and to assuage his guilt. He then gets his new girlfriend Mindy’s old job.

But what’s this? The dastardly fiend suddenly finds he needs to pee a lot and feels tired. He collapses. [Song: "Pancreatic Overdrive" - Sort of rocky, Pink Floyd paranoia number]

Act the Second

Power crazy banker is diagnosed with diabetes… He can’t believe it. He struggles to come to terms with what has happened to him [Song: Doctor explains in song - "That's Diabetes"].

Ex-girlfriend, who can’t help but care, meanwhile, is down on her luck. Things start to go wrong – banker struggles to maintain his blood glucose while maintaining his evil lifestyle. To make matters worse, the evil Sadistica is plotting against him to try and take his job. [Song:"Insulin Dependent Blues"]

The evil Sadistica succeeds in taking his job. In a mad state of despair, banker goes completely of the rails and has a hypo late at night walking through a bus station [Song: a bit of Wagner here).

Act the Third

The lovely ex girlfriend Mindy is selling lucky heather in the bus station, and sees all. Having spent the last six months living in a hospice, she is familiar with the signs of diabetic collapse. [Song: "Mindy" - sung by chorus, a rewrite of "Wendy" by the Beach Boys, then a racy Who-type number by  Mindy "He wants Candy"]

Running to WH Smiths, she steals some Lucozade and forces it between his lips. Sitting by his bedside in hospital, she waits for him to come round. He pours out his woes and begs forgiveness. Eventually, she grants it, and helps him put his life on an even keel. [Song: "When I'm Comatose" to the tune of When I'm 64]

Act the Fourth

In a final moment of salvation, the reformed banker lays a trap for the power-mad ex-girlfriend Sadistica. She falls for it and is sacked and humiliated by the bank.

The banker is offered his job back, but explains that it’s no longer his world and that he has a new role to play now, helping children come to terms with diabetes and working pro bono to raise money for diabetic sufferers and defend them against medical companies and those who would wish to do them down. Lots of diabetics (some blind, some with missing feet) run/hobble/are led onto stage for the final number. [Song: "Life Sure is Sweet"]

Curtain down.

I’m Alison’s pump. She talks about me a lot so I’ve hi-jacked the blog to tell my side of the story. I don’t have long because we’re not apart often so I’ll get straight to it.

I’ve been with Alison for over 2 years now and overall I’d say we get on well. She’s a very enthusiastic owner, she makes me blush at times the way she raves about how fantastic I am. And so she should, I have integrated CGMS, I’m at the forefront of diabetes tech. Personally I don’t think she uses all of my capabilities – I’m sure she could spend more time downloading and analysing all the data I collect for her but apparently she has a life she wants to live.

Most of the time I get to sit in pride of place on her waistband, although don’t think I haven’t noticed that for parties that involve a posh frock I’m relegated to the bra, out of sight. That doesn’t do a lot for my ego.

This job has some good perks. She’s taken me white water rafting, sailing and on safari. I like it that she never leaves me behind although it was a little embarrassing when she spotted one of my friends in the middle of the Costa Rican jungle. Despite it’s owner speaking no English I had to endure the shame of her and Alison attempting to compare pumps via the medium of mime. I was willing my battery to run out so I didn’t have to witness the humiliating spectacle any longer.

I don’t want to sound ungrateful, Alison’s a good owner, but she can be a little hard to live with at times.  

She has a tendency to shoot the messenger. I can’t predict how she’s going to react when I have to tell her that her blood sugar is too high, it’s like Russian roulette. If we’re in public I’m generally safe, she’ll acknowledge the high and put some more insulin in quickly and discretely. If we’re alone it’s a more hit and miss affair. Sometimes its fine, other times there’s furious muttering and occasional violence. Thankfully she’s only thrown me on the bed so far but she does talk about pitching me out of the window which I think is an unnecessary over-reaction. At times like this I fear for my safety.

There’s one thing though that hurts above all else. She thinks I don’t know, but I’ve seen her looking round at other pumps, seeing if there’s anything better on the market, eyeing up my replacement. I know I’ve got less than 2 years until I’m out of warranty and then what? I need to start planning for my future.

The things I know about Alison you wouldn’t believe. We’re rarely apart; I know everything about her, what I’ve told you so far is just a taster. If you want the more salubrious bits, please send money. I have to fund my retirement somehow.

My fair city of Edinburgh is currently in the grip of the Edinburgh International Festival and Fringe. For those that don’t know, the city plays host to the world’s largest arts festival. Each August a bewildering number of plays, dance routines, comedy shows, musical extravaganzas, street performances are put on in a warren of tiny, damp, uncomfortable venues scattered around town.

Every year we’re subject to a vast range of performances, ranging from the truly brilliant and inspired to the truly awful and downright bizarre. And not being one to miss out on anything, I thought we could all club together, hire a venue and put on:

Diabetes: The Musical!

It would be brilliant and would chart the daily highs and lows of being diabetic in the modern world through the medium of cheery song and dance. And I’ll think you’ll agree, there’s no better medium for broadcasting information about life-threatening chronic conditions than cheery song and dance.

I expect some of us can carry a tune (though actually being able to sing is probably just an optional extra); I did a bit of theatre lighting and sound at school; and my wife is very handy with a sewing machine and could knock-up colourful costumes. So we’re sorted – all we need now are lyrics.

It’s early days yet, but here are a few rhyming couplets I’ve knocked out so far that could form the basis of some songs:

It’s morning and I’m feeling low
I’ve got a busy day and I hope I don’t hypo

My friends just say I’m just sweet
But without insulin I’m incomplete

It’s true that on the blog we’re sometimes outspoken
But that’s just because our pancreases are broken

Some people think it’s just an affection
But we’re dead without our daily injection

When I was high I used to be a grump
But that’s a thing of the past now I have my pump

So there we have it – further suggestions below in the usual place. I think with only a tiny bit more work we’re only one step away from a sure-fire five-star Festival hit!