Shoot Up or Put Up

We’re off to Disneyworld in a couple of weeks for a bit of much needed Disney magic. Amidst the excitement it did set me thinking. What would diabetes be like if it was managed by Disney, that all encompassing factory of magical happiness?

If Disney did diabetes…

• My pump would wake me up in the morning with a cheery blast of Zip-a-de-doo-dah
• I wouldn’t be high, I’d be magically elevated
• I wouldn’t be hypo, I’d be having a magical moment
• You’d no longer experience that horrid time in limbo when you’re sitting on the floor waiting for the sweat to subside and the sugar to kick in after a hypo. Oh no, that time would be filled with amazing fireworks displays, beautifully choreographed to classic Disney tunes.
• Insulin would be measured in fairy drops, not units
• I’d have to fight with a certain mouse named Mickey to get to a nice low carb cheese snack
• As a motivator to maintain glucose levels within target range, any results out of range will trigger my meter to play “It’s a small world” on a loop until it gets a result within range. (This way lies madness me thinks!)
• HbA1c results would be delivered via the medium of dance – a good result gets you Mickey and Minnie surrounded by hundreds of dancing showgirls. A less than favourable result is delivered by a screeching Cruella de Ville.
• Snow White would lend me one of her dwarves to carry my diabetes junk round for me (I’m not fussy which dwarf, although I’m pretty good at being Grumpy and Dopey myself so it’s probably best she lends me one of the other 5)
• When I’m having a bad diabetes day and the world is getting me down, a meerkat/warthog dancing combo would appear and serenade me with an uplifting rendition of Hakuna Matata
• The whole thing would be even more expensive than it already is, but somehow you’d feel it was worth the money

Any more suggestions? Have a nice day!

Before we get on to the main article suggested by the intentionally provocative headline, first things first – happy New Year to all our beloved readers. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas (or equivalent winter-based festival) and a fab Hogmanay. I certainly did; hurrah!

Anyway, avid reader Rachel brought my attention to this article in the Express newspaper about insulin syringes and airport security. For our non-UK readers who might not know of it, the Express, in my humble opinion, is a worthless rag with horrible, ill-researched journalism (if you can call it that) that results in a paper that is barely worth using to line the cat’s litter tray.

Essentially the jist of the story is that following the Christmas Day bomb scare thing a journalist (if you can call him that) apparently “evaded security” by taking a insulin pen through the security checks at Schiphol airport. After successfully getting airside, the scaremongering article notes that said journalist could then have used the insulin filled pen to…uhm…uhm…not do very much. Oh. Perhaps that’s why security ignored his small vial of insulin in the first place.

I’ve written about airport security before and I’ve never had any problem with taking insulin, needles, finger-pokers and what-not through airports. I never bother telling anyone I have a bag full of insulin and I’ve never been stopped. My concealed pistol has, however, been slightly more problematic. With talk of security being beefed-up (including not allowing passengers access to hand-luggage during the last hour of flights, etc.) I wonder if the pancreatically-challenged hoards might have problems in future?

I suspect we probably won’t – after all there’s not much you can actually do with a syringe – a few small vials of insulin and a couple of packets of test strips could hardly pose a security threat. So I think the Express’ article completely missed the point in two major ways. Firstly, the baddie on Christmas Day also had a load of explosives strapped in his undies – surely that being missed is a little more of an issue than a syringe. And secondly it’s worth noting that not all terrorist attacks happen on planes. The London 7/7 and Madrid attacks were carried out on trains and buses but there’s no talk of security scans on the number 44 bus to Balerno. In other words a determined terrorist will always get through no matter what levels of security are imposed – so why take it out on us innocent diabetics?

Anyway, I’d be interested to hear if any of our readers have had any issues with security since Christmas Day (or indeed, ever). And finally, can any of you diabetic geeks work out what brand of insulin the reporter has in the pictures - I can’t. Answers in the comments below!

An elusive leopard senses insulin is nearby and breaks cover

It’s been a while folks what with work being a bit manic and then the husband and I heading off to South Africa for a marvellous holiday, but I’m back! 

And what pearl of wisdom did I discover during my little break? Diabetes can be an excellent way of attracting leopards.

We’d had a great game drive, we’d seen elephants and rhino, lots of impala and a dung beetle but no luck with the leopard. Our ranger radioed the lodge to let them know we’d be back in 10 mins for breakfast. I decided to be a good diabetic and bolus for breakfast immediately so it had a little time to start working.

I’d delivered 6 units of insulin when the call came over the radio – a leopard had been spotted about 5 minutes from us. This was too good an opportunity to miss, breakfast was cancelled and we set off through the bush to track the leopard. I cancelled the rest of my bolus, had a couple of fruit pastilles and spent the most amazing hour following a leopard as it wandered through the bush.

The moral of the story? If you really want to see something on safari, give up all hope and bolus for breakfast. The chance to cause a hypo is too good for any self respecting leopard to miss and they appear almost immediately!

We’re just back from a fantastic fortnight sailing around the beautiful Aegean Sea. We were around the islands where Mamma Mia was filmed so the poor husband is still recovering from being tunelessly serenaded with Abba tunes most days by yours truly! Reading through the comments it looks like Tim’s had plenty of company while I’ve been away but I know that you must have been waiting impatiently for me to answer the questions I posed before I went away.

The wait is over, here we go.

• Disappointingly Greek beer has a greater impact on blood sugars than Croatian beer. I don’t know what the Croatians do to their beer to make it so diabetes friendly but I needed about a unit a glass to cope with the Greek stuff.
• I’m proud (and slightly surprised) to say there was no full on diabetes tantrum prior to departure, but I did allow myself the luxury of a little diabetes grumble whilst packing the seven tonnes of junk needed for a fortnight’s diabetes care.
• And the answer you’ve all been waiting for, how many pump related sailing injuries did I endure? Drum roll please…just the one bruised knee from catching the pump on the rope that hoists the main sail and one infusion set ripped out whilst mooring one evening. Other injuries included a bit of a rash on my back from using extra strong sticking plaster to keep my sensor attached amidst salt water, sweat and sun block and a nasty bruised toe from a slight collision with the anchor. Other than that, I’m remarkably unscathed.

The pump provided hours of entertainment when people spotted it clipped to my bikini. Guesses as to what it was ranged from a personal GPS system so that I could be located if I fell overboard to a camera; a compass; a portable VHF radio and a pedometer! I almost felt like I was disappointing them when I told them it was a boring old insulin pump.

Haute cuisine - French style

You’ll all have noted from her earlier post that that Alison and her hubby are off sailing for a fortnight. Well, not one to be left out, I’m also on holiday for the next six days in the sunny south of France – staying with my folks who live an hour north of Toulouse.

Unlike Alison, I don’t have any queries about my diabetes as I have no intention of doing anything other than sitting the shade, reading The Oxford Book of Modern Science Writing and drinking cold white wine from the Loire valley.

So you lot are going to be cruelly abandoned for the next few days. Feel free to use the forum to continue the cheery banter amongst yourselves. Behave yourselves and enjoy!

The husband and I are off on our jollies for a couple of weeks, so I’ll leave you in the slightly scary but very entertaining care of Tim.

We’re going sailing in Greece which should be fabulous. Sailing is always an interesting diabetes challenge. I find I have to plan my insulin alongside the weather forecast. No wind? Increase insulin in preparation for a day of sunbathing and reading. A good breeze blowing? Reduce insulin and get ready to pull those ropes.

Other important questions preying on my mind include:

• What impact will Greek beer have on blood sugars? Last year Croatian beer proved to be marvellous in having very little impact, fingers crossed the Greek stuff is just as good.
• Will we get to the airport without me having a tantrum about how much diabetes junk I have to carry in my hand luggage? I’d say this is very unlikely.
• And the big one. In the next 2 weeks how many times will I catch my pump on a rope and say something rude when the pump swings round and hits me on the knee? Place your bets now ladies and gentleman, the answer will be published upon my return.

Bon voyage!

Since I was diagnosed with diabetes (yay!) a few years ago, I’ve travelled quite a bit on planes. As you’ll all know, insulin hates getting too cold or too hot and therefore keeping our spare supplies in the hold is really out of the question.

Although a normal passenger plane’s hold will be heated to around about five degrees centigrade and is, of course, pressurised – you just don’t know how long your suitcase might stay out on the runway in baking tropical heat / freezing frigid cold (delete as applicable) or how well the throwers (or “baggage handlers” as they’re quaintly known) will treat your case. Katie and I always play a game as we wait for our suitcases to arrive on the carousel called “Which Bit of Suitcase Will Have Been Ripped Off This Time?” A wildly fun game if ever there was.

The long and short of all this is the diabetic has to carry through lots of little vials of clear, sinister-looking liquids through security in their hand luggage. Post 9/11 security has been seriously beefed up on all airlines and airports and so this could be a pain in the butt for us pancreatically-challenged victims.

As an aside, while I’m on the topic of security, I grew up in Belfast in the 1980’s during the tail-end of The Troubles and frequently flew back to England with my brother. I remember the approach up to Belfast’s Aldergrove airport was interrupted by a military checkpoint through which your car’s number plate was typed into the police computer and if you didn’t check out you were whisked aside to be blown up in a controlled explosion, or something.

Once past this you were frisked at the next security point and your bag searched regardless of whether the metal detector bleeped – and all this even before you got into the airport building itself. Security thereafter was, well, pretty damned secure. A nice man from the security services would question each passenger in the departures lounge (I was a school boy at the time, so answered questions like “what do you plan to do during your visit to Northern Ireland?” with a puzzled “uhm, go to school…?”). Finally you would arrive at London Heathrow at an arrivals gate especially reserved for entries from Northern Ireland which was situated miles away from any other gates – presumably to give MI5 a final chance to give you the once over.

So compared to all this I think the security nowadays is pretty straightforward, though I have to confess I prefer it now you don’t have a solder pointing his SA80 semi-automatic carbine at you while I go through security – but, hey, that’s just me.

Anyway, prior to travelling – like any good diabetic – I got a signed letter from my registrar explaining I was pancreatically-challenged, a copy of my latest prescription and prepared myself for questioning and possible full cavity body-searches.

However, I’ve never had the slightest problem with security and have never even had my bag manually searched – this applies to airlines or any of the tourist sights in the USA which had a degree of security. Meanwhile my wife, Katie, frequently gets stopped, frisked and searched as I’m ignored.

I suspect that under the prying x-ray machine my kit just looks like standard diabetic stuff and so it just gets waved through. Maybe I just have an honest face. In any event, that the guards are distracted by my insulin certainly makes it much easier to get my concealed handgun through security. Hurrah!

Tim is still on his hols which means I’m still dreaming about holidays and reminiscing happily about previous travel adventures.The honest one and the shifty one at the Top of the Rock

Tim and Katie are spending some time in New York so I wanted to offer them a bit of advice. When we went to the big apple we decided to go up to the top of the Rockefeller Centre for a view of the city.

Security was understandably tight with bags being x-rayed and people walking through metal detectors. As usual, the husband was virtually strip searched (he must have a shifty look about him). I started to walk through the metal detector when they spotted my pump.

We went through the usual routine. The security guard politely asked me to remove my cell phone. I explained it was an insulin pump. He asked me to “step this way please madam”. I was expecting to be manually searched but he just walked me round the back of the metal detector and waved me through, no metal detector, no search, nothing.

Security check over.

So I then got to stand there for the next 5 minutes while the husband was interrogated and searched. It appears the easiest way to get to the top of the Rockefeller Centre is to be a diabetic with an honest face and a shifty looking husband!

Tim heading off on his hols got me thinking about my travels with diabetes.

A couple of years ago we spent a month travelling round China. It was brilliant and surprisingly easy from a diabetes point of view. The food was delicious and I ate pretty low carb food for the whole trip which made a real difference to my control.

The exception was the Chinese dumpling banquet in Xian. A meal comprising twenty two courses of dumplings stuffed with everything from fungus to crab to shark! That’s a lot of dumplings. And nowhere in my many years of accumulated diabetes wisdom have I come across the carbohydrate count of a dumpling.

So I did what every good diabetic does when faced with previously unencountered gastronomic delights, I guestimated.

The banquet was interesting, although after the 14th dumpling it did start to feel like a bit of an endurance test. But we passed; we ate all the dumplings and waddled home looking quite dumpling-like ourselves.

Of course, I had wildly under-guestimated the number of carbs in a dumpling and when you multiply that by 22, that’s quite an error. When I woke up in the middle of the night unable to detach my tongue from the roof of my mouth I guessed I’d underdone the insulin. 24.8 on the meter, a gallon of water, a bucket of insulin and back to sleep.

I woke up the next morning with a headache and a tongue not even wet enough to lick a stamp. Still hovering around the 20 mark, I had another bucket of insulin and went off to see the Terracotta Warriors.  Disconcertingly I could also feel at least 21 of the 22 dumplings sitting heavily at the bottom of my stomach.

This went on for 2 days. That’s how long it seems to take to digest 22 Chinese dumplings and get blood sugar levels back down to normal.

A Chinese dumpling banquet was definitely a once in a lifetime experience, I’d never be stupid enough to repeat it.

In the immortal words of Sir Cliff Richard OBE:

We’re all going on a summer holiday
No more worries for a week or two
Fun and laughter on a summer holiday
No more worries for me and you
For a week or two

Yes, I’m leaving all you lovely readers to the tender mercies of Alison, while Katie and I disappear off to the United States of America for two-and-a-half week’s holiday.

Among other places I’ll be spending a week in sunny Manhattan. Just remember, my American chums, that if it wasn’t for the British, New York would still be New Amsterdam and you’d all be speaking Dutch. Ha!

Holland is of course a wonderful place and the Dutch a liberal, enlightened and intelligent nation with a cracking selection of beers. So, in reflection, sorry about that New Yorkers – if you’d stuck with the Dutch, life would have been so much better. I apologise.

Anyway, if I’m not shot by airport security for trying to smuggle small capsules of liquid and needles into the country in my hand-luggage and don’t succumb to swine fever, I’ll see you all back here in few weeks. Ta ta!