by Tim
13 July, 2011 in Video Blog
Alison and Tim talk about their respective diagnosis of diabetes. Alison doesn’t have much to say as she can’t actually remember her diagnosis at the age of four and so Tim gets a chance to speak for a bit.
by Tim
8 April, 2011 in Living with diabetes, Mildly amusing
Hands, some of which belong to a model, yesterday
Back through the mists of time when I was a small child during the halcyon and sunny decade that was the 1980′s, I often thought about what my job might be when I was all grown up.
This is, of course, not wildly unusual; with many a small boy yearning to grow up to be a racing driver or a train driver (I think it’s the membership of the Transport and General Workers Union that particularly appeals to the five year old train driver to be).
I, however, was different.
At the tender age of five, I knew that modelling was the career for me. But by then I had already realised I had the lop-sided face of an irascible pug licking mustard off a nettle, so general modelling was clearly out. But what could I do, what could I do? That was it – hand modelling!
As you will all, of course, know; hand modelling is a very specific type modelling where only your hands are in shot (the name kind of gives it away). You know the sort of photograph – the manly hand in the advert that clutches the can of foaming beer, the hand and wrist that shows off the trendy cufflinks. Yep! That was the career for me.
My early research showed that hand modelling was a cut-throat, dog-eat-dog (sorry Neville) industry and that I would have to be something special to get ahead. So I worked hard, got a clutch of GCSEs and bunch of A levels in difficult subjects (I had a bias towards to the arts, but don’t hold that against me). I then studied through arduously long days and nights to get a degree in law. All the while I slathered my hands in expensive creams, lotions and tonics; avoided manual labour and kept my nails beautifully manicured.
So far, so good. But I still didn’t feel I was ready to become the hand model I’d always dreamt of being. So I took a temporary McJob as a specialist in Internet-based intellectual property – something we’ve all done in times of need – to tide myself over in the meantime.
Seven long years elapsed and on 6th December 2005 I finally felt ready to resign from my job to at last become a hand model. But the very next day disaster struck and I was diagnosed with Type One diabetes.
Almost immediately I started testing my blood glucose six, seven or even eight times a day and before long I had developed the “pepper pot” fingers that are the internationally recognised badge of diabetes. No reputable agency would employ a hand model whose finger tips were covered in the tiny black spots inherent in constant BG testing. In an instant my hand modelling future was in ruins.
I sobbed for a week and had to return, shame-faced, to a career in a niche, IP-focussed consultancy and my childhood dreams were crushed. All because of diabetes.
So dear readers, let me know in the comments below which of your fictitious potential careers have been ruined by the horrific scourge that is diabetes.
by Tim
18 June, 2010 in Living with diabetes
A diagram of Tim's pancreas, yesterday
Just the other day we had an interesting discussion over on the Shoot Up forums (there are some sensible debates over there you know. It’s not all weak puns and inane banter. Well, not entirely).
We were discussing the difference between people’s experience of diabetes depending on whether they were diagnosed at a very early age (and so knew nothing other than injecting) or whether they were diagnosed much later in life and so could remember what it was like to have a working pancreas.
I was diagnosed with Type One at the relatively ancient age of 28 and so spent a healthy chunk of my adult life not knowing what the hell diabetes was – something to do with chocolate and injections or something or whatever. So I very much knew what it was like not be in the failed-pancreas club.
Immediately after diagnosis I was just pleased to have found out what had been wrong with me all those months and thankful I was no longer drinking pint after pint of water and feeling absolutely wreaked all the time. However, as the days passed, I did have the occasional bought of self-pity (and why not?) in which I shook a metaphoric fist at my broken pancreas. As we all know, getting the balance of good diabetes control right is not easy and occasionally my frustration at not getting it right all the time turned to regret at having damn diabetes in the first place.
But since those early days, I’ve not really looked back with any sense of regret about being struck down with diabetes. It sounds trite, but you get on with whatever hand of cards you’re dealt with. There’s no going back to having a working pancreas and a cure is very unlikely. Unless, of course, you have a handy TARDIS to travel back / forward in time. Which I don’t. Pity.
So, no, I don’t harken back to the days before my diagnosis – I just keep a stiff upper lip and get on with it. But what do you think? Is it best to have had a pancreas and lost it or to have never have a pancreas at all?
by Samantha
2 December, 2009 in Living with diabetes
By Samantha
When I was eight years old, my pancreas broke. It didn’t really seem so bad at the time; I got to spend two weeks in hospital getting looked after by some lovely nurses. For me, it was like being ill and having to get better in a place that wasn’t home. And it wasn’t so bad. I got given my meals and I had my own little room with a TV in. The man that brought the cart of magazines and food round became a firm friend and used to give me free cans of diet coke. It was like a holiday.
Yet looking back at it, I seem to remember my parents looking exceptionally gaunt and worried. For them, it wasn’t a holiday. They had just found out that their child had this horrible autoimmune illness that would be with her for the rest of her life. Even though it was difficult for me to start with, I took it in my stride. I relied heavily on my mum to do my injections, I hated blood testing. But I was a good girl. Ok, so occasionally sneaking chocolate out of the sweet tin, but hey, isn’t that what kids do? And sometimes, having a broken pancreas hurt a bit. It still does. Sometimes.
Yet, when I had to go back to school, I hid my diabetes from people. I felt that I couldn’t tell anyone other than those that really mattered. Like, only the teachers knew at school and I kept it from everyone except my family. One time, when I was testing my blood sugar feeling all funny, it immediately attracted the word ‘different’ to me. And for the remainder of primary school I was bullied mercilessly for being the ‘weird one who injects herself’. It didn’t stop until I was at secondary school and I took things into my own hands. I stopped hiding it; I began to be proud of what I had. They still tried to hate me for being different, but I didn’t care. I would stand on the rooftops and yell it through a megaphone if I could.
Being a child with diabetes is a very difficult thing. And having been there myself, struggling through the urges to be like everyone else, struggling with growing up and puberty; I admire every other child who has been through it and succeeded.
More so, I admire every parent out there who cares for a diabetic child. And I admire my own mother for her efforts in helping me to gain control of this condition. She was there for me through the highs and the lows, without her I still wouldn’t be able to inject myself, without her I would still be terrified of the medieval torture device known as the Finger Pricker. She always knew how to deal with my hypos, always knew the signs often before I did. And even just recently when I was staying at my grandfather’s and had a serious one, she jumped straight into mum mode and threw a load of chocolate cake in my general direction. And because of my mum, I had the courage to not hide this condition anymore. It may be invisible to most people, but it’s a part of who I am and thanks to my mum’s efforts I’m being the best damn diabetic I can be.
And ok, so I may be getting closer to the ‘Rotting Toes’ mentioned in the tagline, but that’s my own fault. I had a rebellion, I’m not proud of it. But I did. It was a part of the rollercoaster called diabetes. And its been a long rollercoaster, and not likely to end any time soon. Fourteen years is a long time – and my D Day is coming up on the 14th February (‘Morning darling, happy valentines day. Oh by the way, it’s my diabetic birthday too. Sod the roses, let’s have cake!’) which seems rather ironic to me.
But I couldn’t have gotten here without the help of some very special people – my mum and my dad, my friends and my partner. Without them, I would have fallen off the rails long ago, and been struggling to get back on them. Now, I’m back on track…though I will admit I do still sneak treats out of the sweet tin sometimes. But shhh, keep that to yourselves.
—————
Samantha is Type One and regularly blogs at http://www.talkingbloodglucose.com/
Please create an account to get started.
Shoot Up or Put Up - a diabetes website by Tim & Alison
Blogs posts | Forum posts | Recent activity | The legals
Loading ...