Type 3

Low Interrupted

At first, I was thinking that I would toss out this post, or save it for later, in order to respond to the news from the Diabetes Research Institute. I know that a post like this, full of words on a screen, risks getting lost in the mix. But maybe it won’t.

If you read my last post, you know that A-Flizzle surprised me with a birthday trip to Jacksonville to tour the Budweiser brewery, hang out with Jacquie and the gang, get a massage, and go to one of my favorite restaurants in the whole wide world called 13 Gypsies. And my blood sugar spiked sky high. So now you’re caught up. As Paul Harvey would say, this is “the rest of the story.”

I’ve been sitting on this post for a few weeks now. It’s been a really hard thing for me to share. It’s the post I’ve been waiting to write for, like, 23 days.

My blood sugar was sky high, but I couldn’t very well call in diabetic and cancel a quality birthday celebration. Nor did I want to. I bolused for the high, but having been unplugged from my pump for as long as I was, there was really no telling how much insulin it would take to turn things around and get my BG’s back to normal. I knew I would need to feather the insulin over time in small doses so that I didn’t get a big ball of insulin hitting me all at once. It sounded like a good idea, at least. Until it just wasn’t working. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

So, I did what any abnormal person with a nonfunctioning pancreas would do in the situation: I rage bolused the $h!t out of that high to show it who was boss. And I did too.

Later that night, after we had gone out to a rooftop bar and then to one of our favorite hangouts in 5 Points, Birdie’s, A-Flizzle and I trekked back to our hotel to call it a night. We settled in, I stretched out on the bed, propped my head up on a stack of pillows, and started watching one of the greatest movies of all time that just happened to be on TV that night: Con Air. What? You know you love it!

A-Flizzle was sound asleep, and I was laying there in bed messing around with my iPad and watching Cyrus the Virus battle The Man of Nomadic Eyebrows from the Land of Forgotten Forehead (aka, Nicholas Cage) for a shot at freedom via a crash landing on the Las Vegas strip (don’t blame me, I didn’t write it) when it hit me. Hard. And I remember every single part of it.

In an instant, I had absolutely no clue where I was. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing, even though I was doing nothing. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t help overanalyzing every next thought that was popping into my head, and I had no control of what was popping into my head next.

I sat up and threw my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. I sat there, in a complete panic, trying to figure out what was going on. I knew what was going on. I just couldn’t quite figure out what was going on. But everything was so serious. I couldn’t figure out what was happening, what was next, what I should do.

I stood up. I walked over to my BG kit, and sat it on the table. I walked off. I started pacing around the room, stomping hard, trying to figure out what in the world was going on. I could see A-Flizzle in the middle of the king size bed, sound asleep. I tried to yell for her, but I couldn’t. No sound would come out. I started hitting my diabetes tattoo, indicating, trying to make noise and get her attention. Anybody’s attention. But it wasn’t loud enough.

And that’s when it hit me: I was low. Really, really low. And I was standing in the room with the one person that I trust more than anyone, and I could not for the life of me (literally) figure out how to get her attention. What would be so simple any other time, to simply yell or reach out and shake her awake, I could not figure out how to tell my body to do. I just knew that this was really, really serious, and I had to figure out something through my garbled thoughts.

I paced around the king sized bed like a tiger walking a perimeter, establishing his territory. Back and forth, from one side to the other, for I don’t even know how long. All the while I’m trying to figure out how to wake her up. I was fading. The panic was wearing me out. I was starting to think about what A-Flizzle would do without me, and how much it would crush her to lose me when she was right there, so close. What would happen to my Hopper (dog), Squirt (cat), and Bindi (A-Flizzle’s dog) back home without me. How their little hearts would break when I didn’t come home from a weekend away. How my Hopper would continue to look for me at the door long after Amanda got home, just waiting on me to get there to give him a doggie hug.

All I could think was, “This might be the one. That one low blood sugar that I don’t survive. The big one.” I was also thinking, “Dammit, I don’t want to go to the hospital on my friggin’ birthday!” I started punching the corner of the bed because I was so frustrated that I couldn’t get my body and brain to communicate and work properly. Then I thought of big ones, like the big earthquake in California that everybody always talks of but hasn’t happened yet. The hurricane that will come and sink Florida. The importance of having an emergency plan, a parachute. A parachute? A PARACHUTE! For when I fall!

I managed to figure out that if I passed out from the low, it was my pump that would continue to give me insulin and keep me low. I snatched it from my PJ pants pocket, and unhooked it, not bothering to suspend it, and threw it on the bed. I went over to my bag, and found the glowing bright red rectangle that contained glucagon, and held it tight in my left hand. I knew that if I passed out, A-Flizzle would likely hear me hit the floor, and hopefully see the glucagon in my hand and know what to do. If she didn’t, at least my pump was off, so hopefully I would survive long enough for my blood sugar to come back up naturally before…well, before I died.

As I was digging in my bag for that, I uncovered a Level gel. I ripped off the top with my teeth and managed to get most of the gel in my mouth through the lack of motor skills and shaking that I didn’t realize was happening. Once I got the Level gel in me, and gave it time to work, I was finally able to figure out how to reach over and wake A-Flizzle up to help me. By then I was back on the edge of the bed, drenched in sweat, shaking, still holding the glucagon case in my left hand, and completely physically and emotionally exhausted. Half asleep, her training that I taught her in case I ever go low kicked in, and she was able to retrieve two more Level gels and help me get them down before I had to lay down, else pass out from exhaustion. Still, I wasn’t up to a normal and safe BG level yet.

A-Flizzle set a timer on her phone to wake us up every 15 minutes for me to test my BG again. After an hour of that, I was still only at 70. Not too low, but certainly not high enough to go to sleep after such a bad low. I took one more Level gel, and then I was out for the rest of the night. I woke up the next morning at 96. Normal. And completely hungLOWver, worn out, physically and emotionally exhausted from the night before.

I’m thankful that I taught A-Flizzle what to do when I go low. I’m thankful that we have a plan and always know where things are to treat a low, even if half asleep. It’s so important to have something available to treat a low blood sugar, and know where it is even in your subconscious. That is what may save you in the event that you have to build your own parachute. I know it did me. It’s been extremely hard for me to admit to myself, but I know that I wouldn’t be here right now had I not had those gels, known where they were, and the fact that they were easy for me to get into when it was literally life or death for me.

Tomorrow, the DRI is set to share some big news about steps toward an eventual cure for diabetes. I really hope it is everything that we hope it will be. I’d be lying though if I didn’t admit I’m skeptical. Don’t confuse that with negativity. I’m positive that there will be a cure someday, and I’ll be the first one to celebrate tomorrow if there is something to celebrate. I’ve just heard that a cure was coming since my mother was told that there would be one when I was diagnosed at age two, 32 years ago. A cure for diabetes is exactly what every one of us with diabetes, and every parent of a child with diabetes, wants in this world. Nobody should have to see their life flash before their eyes on their birthday because of a low blood sugar like I had to. However, hoping and praying and wishing doesn’t get us closer to that day.

I’ve learned to keep myself grounded in reality. Maybe that’s a defense mechanism so that I’m not constantly let down, but experience says to be patient, diligent, and steadfast today so that we can make it to tomorrow. The absolute best thing we can do is take care of ourselves today, support each other in the diabetes community, both online and offline, and not let our fellow person with diabetes stumble. You can do this, and so can I. Then, when that cure does arrive, whether it’s tomorrow or twenty years from now, we’ll be ready.

Team Type 1 and Life With Diabetes

Friends For Life is not just for children with diabetes. It isn’t just for adults with diabetes. It is also for parents, grandparents, siblings, significant others, and friends of people with diabetes. Friends For Life is for those who need hope, who need help, and who need reassurance that anything is possible for people with diabetes, whether they themselves have diabetes or not.

Phil Southerland, founder of Team Type 1, lives to prove that anything is possible with diabetes. I’ve seen the presentation of the story of Team Type 1 several times, but Friends For Life was the first time that I’ve seen it directed to parents and caregivers of children with diabetes.

Phil started by introducing himself, and sharing the story of how he and his mom dealt with the reality of the diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes when he was a small child. I can relate to Phil’s story, as I was diagnosed at about the same time he was. I was two years old when I was diagnosed, and though doctors tried to fill my parents with hope that a cure was on the way, the reality of the diagnosis at that time, and for me at such a young age, was not as optimistic as it is today.

But Phil and I both made it, and we got to experience the Team Type 1 session at Friends For Life 2012 with one of us on stage, and the other (me) out in the audience observing how parents with the same diagnosis as our parents received about us were trying to figure everything out.

I was so happy to see the room full of orange bracelets (worn by those without diabetes). Friends For Life is ultimately a Children With Diabetes conference, and with the exception of an Adult T1 Track, it is geared primarily to children and their caregivers. For this session, I was actually the one in the room that wasn’t where I was supposed to be. Not really a surprise, as I’m rarely where I’m supposed to be, but still, it thrilled me to see so many parents who were interested in learning that their kids can do ANYTHING with diabetes.

Several of the parents in the room had specific questions for Phil about how to manage their child’s diabetes in various situations, such as while swimming, playing soccer, and other sporty situations. Something I see often with parents, especially those parents whose child is recently diagnosed, is that they want black and white, straightforward, no argument answers about how to deal with some aspect of their child’s diabetes. They don’t want it to be as “bad” as it is.

The truth of the matter is that diabetes is not black & white. It is gray, purple, green, yellow, and every other color of the rainbow. Although it has its tough days, living with diabetes is one of the best things that ever happened to me. If you ask Phil, he will tell you the same. With diabetes, you have to really know your body, pay attention to it, and as a result many people with diabetes (PWDs) are as healthy or healthier than a lot of people without diabetes. I find a lot of strength in that.

The specifics of diabetes varies for every single person. Honeymoon periods (the period of time for some recently diagnosed Type 1 diabetics where their body is still producing small amounts of insulin, which typically decreases as time goes by) last for weeks, or months. Low blood sugar symptoms show up at a BG (blood glucose level) of 110 mg/dl or 45 mg/dl, and sometimes not at all. Every single person with diabetes varies.

Phil’s best advice to the parents, and something I agree with him 100% on, is to let children become the CEO of their own body. Keep focused, but learn and let children learn from their diabetes successes and mistakes. Blame does not breed learning.

If your child has a low blood sugar, it’s not your fault, and it’s not their fault. If your child has a high blood sugar, it’s not your fault either, nor is it their fault. The same applies if you have Type 1 diabetes yourself. That is diabetes, and over three decades of living well with diabetes has taught me that it is critical to remove the emotion from diabetes numbers, such as blood sugar levels and A1C values.

It’s just data, and it isn’t telling you that you are doing it right or doing it wrong. Only a human can assign emotion to math. A blood glucose meter cannot do that. Take diabetes data with the same face value as a road sign or a traffic light: It is a cue that some sort of action needs to take place, whether that action is to make an adjustment, stop, proceed with caution, or keep going and you’re doing great!

The next time your child comes home from school, resist the urge to immediately ask them what their last BG reading was, or how they are feeling, if they need a snack, or how many carbs did they eat for lunch. Instead, ask them to tell you about the most exciting thing to happen to them that day. You may be surprised to learn that diabetes is not the most exciting part of their world, so don’t make it the most exciting part of your world either (unless you’re at Friends For Life).

Life comes first.

Make It So…Wait, Low?

We’re right smack dab in the middle of Diabetes Blog Week, and as much as I would love to be able to post every day, my schedule refuses to allow it. Today’s topic, about some diabetes thing that you or your loved one does spectacularly, captured my attention though, and reminded me of a story that happened just this past weekend.

On Friday, my 31st Diaversary, A-Flizzle and I ventured over to the Monticello Opera House, where I dawned one of these…

…and proceeded to serenade the sold out crowd.

Or maybe I just went there for the Star Trek Murder Mystery Dinner Theatre.

In any case, me and Number One (A-Flizzle) were there and made it so. This was my first murder mystery dinner, so I really had no clue what to expect. In diabetes terms, I didn’t pre-bolus, because I didn’t know exactly when we would get food, or even what the food was going to be. The menu said something about sliced Tribble, with a side of pok tar, and a big stein of Romulan ale. Yeah, go ahead…try looking THAT up in Go Meals! (Which is awesome, by the way, if you ever need an app to look up nutritional info. And no, they didn’t pay me or give me anything to say that. But if they wanted to…*cough, cough*)

Do you think the computer in Star Trek would tell you the nutritional info, or would it just beep and buzz at you like our insulin pumps and Continuous Glucose Monitors (CGM’s) do now? Inquiring Klingons want to know.

Back to the story…so we were sitting there in Act 1, and the galactic detective was setting the scene, something about how awful of a detective he was, or maybe he was getting ready to retire, or perhaps he had chased an alien rabbit down a black hole and had been warped to the other side of space and landed on some distant starship. Honestly, I have no clue, because while we were making it so, diabetes and the full-throttle day was making me low.

Near the end of Act 1, I was trying my hardest to focus and keep up with the story, but I was checked out. My attention was somewhere between Jupiter and Pluto. All I could think was, “I’m low…and is that person really wearing a Darth Vader mask under a hood and pretending to be in Star Trek?”

The spectacular of the story is that A-Flizzle noticed. A regular Coke and a couple of glucose tabs later, I was back in space, instead of spaced out. I caught up with the mystery, we enjoyed dinner, had blueberry cobbler for dessert that was to die for, and by the end I had even figured out whodunit.

The biggest mystery though is how A-Flizzle figured out that I was low in a crowded room with attention being diverted in the opposite direction of me. Somehow, she has figured out my low blood sugar tells, those hijinks that give away that something is wrong, sometimes even before my brain is capable of comprehending it…and that’s a pretty spectacular diabetes trick.

Bummin’ Around

National Health Blog Post Month, Day 18: A comment as a blog post. Pick someone else’s post (from the past or from today) and write a comment to them. Write that comment as your blog post for today. Link back to them to let them know you were inspired.

Yesterday, I was reading through the “Let It Be” themed blog posts, and one really stuck out to me. Jen, over at Blood, Sweat & Carbs, wrote about the fear that so many parents have when raising a child with Type 1 diabetes. Jen’s words are real, and vivid, and I know something that every single parent of a child with diabetes thinks about, but never wants to admit. For some reason, Jen’s fear reminded me of a story that I haven’t thought about in awhile.

One morning in my early 20’s, I woke up all alone, in a strange bed, cold, in a room well lit with fluorescent lights, covered with nothing but a thin sheet, wearing only a pair of shorts, and staring at the clock on the wall above the door, trying my best to figure out when and where in the world I was. Turned out I was in the emergency room, having had a severe low blood sugar and seizure early that morning.

My dad would always call me in the mornings when he was working off the coast of Louisiana on oil rigs, and he later said that I had answered the call, but then he heard a crack and the phone went dead. The crack was my head hitting the kitchen floor. My girlfriend at the time heard the commotion, found me in the floor, and called 911.

After the ambulance ride and whatever the doctors did in the ER to get me back to good, my girlfriend and my college roommate finally invaded my room in the ER after having been told to wait in the lobby for a time. It wasn’t long before my mom and grandma, who lived an hour and a half away, also showed up. I remember being happy to tears that they were all there, and that I wasn’t alone anymore. Hospitals are scary when you’re that low. Heck, the entire world is scary when you’re that low.

It was still relatively early morning when I was discharged from the ER. I was starving, so we all went to McDonald’s to get breakfast. And who doesn’t love McDonald’s breakfast? No one. It’s awesome. Anyway…

While we were in line, a homeless man asked my mom if she could spare a few dollars so that he could get some breakfast. Thankful that I was okay, and in the spirit of blessings, my mom didn’t hesitate to give the man a bit of the cash for him to get himself some food with. The disheveled man promptly took the money and headed for the door, where his friend was waiting, so that they could most likely go buy themselves some booze instead.

Seeing this, my mom marched after him and grabbed him by the collar before he could get out the door and told him, “Now, I gave you money because you were hungry and wanted breakfast, and I just picked up my son from the hospital and we are thankful to be alive this morning. I didn’t give you money to go blow it on booze and cigarettes.” She then proceeded to walk the man to the counter at McDonald’s, as if he was a six year old boy, and made him order breakfast for him and his friend. Then she took her change back and sent them on their way with a paper bag full of hot McDonald’s goodness.

Back where me, my girlfriend, and my grandma were sitting, we couldn’t stop laughing at the spectacle of my mom making this bum unexpectedly order him and his friend breakfast. To this day, that story that started out so frightening still brings a smile to my face.

I don’t know why Jen’s post made me think of it. Maybe just to illustrate that diabetes is what it is, and it is going to throw a curveball in the direction of all of us at some point. The key is to be ready, and to be thankful for all the times that diabetes doesn’t win, which hopefully far outnumber the more fearful moments. Remember that, as a parent, it is your reaction to diabetes that your child will remember and learn to mimic, and will carry with them through life.

And also, never give a bum money at McDonald’s. Walk him to the counter and make him order breakfast instead. (Thanks Mom!)

Me and Mom (2006)

This post was written as part of National Health Blog Post Month (NHBPM) – 30 health posts in 30 days: http://bit.ly/vU0g9J

Just One Little Touch

For Halloween this year, A-Flizzle and I joined some friends for the Halloween Howl at the Tallahassee Museum. There was a Not-So-Spooky Trail for the kids full of inflatable Halloween ghouls and ghosts, dinosaurs constructed out of junked car parts, as well as animals that were so accustomed to humans that they would come right up to the fence to say hello. I loved it! (And maybe I want to go back during the daytime so I can play with the animals. Just sayin’.)

There was a haunted trail for the more mature crowd, which was really well done. They had folks walk in groups of 4-6 people through a dark and winding forest, and all of a sudden you would turn around and there would be some evil beastie following closely just waiting to get a squeal out of you. Not that I squealed…much…I mean…that was all A-Flizzle. Honest.

The zombie maze was also a highlight. Imagine zigging and zagging your way through a loud, gory fright fest full of brain-hungry zombies everywhere. EVERYWHERE! They were on the ground, in the passageways, chasing humans, chasing each other, agitated because they were trapped behind some obstacle. It was awesome!

After the Halloween Howl, we all decided to go to one of our favorite pizza joints in town and have dinner. I don’t typically hide my diabetes, but at the same time, when we’re hanging out with friends that haven’t spent a significant time around me and my life with diabetes, I try to not make too much of a spectacle of it either.

A-Flizzle had thrown my blood sugar kit in her purse, and after we sat down at our table, I reached my hand over and gently touched her leg with my finger. No words. No look. Not even a break in conversation. Just one little touch. Two seconds later I had a BG kit in my hands and was checking the status of things.

A-Flizzle is great for a lot of reasons. We laugh a lot, we have adventures together, and she tolerates my dog who may or may not leak a little when he gets excited. While we are always there for each other, she still gives me my space and independence. I’ll be the first to admit that I am too independent for my own good, and she would agree, but she doesn’t hold that against me. She will carry my BG kit in her bag if I don’t have a [man] bag of my own to carry it around in, and she also carries four glucose tabs on her key chain everywhere she goes…just in case I need them.

Seriously? How many of you carry something on your key chain just in case somebody else needs it? A-Flizzle is boss. We should all be so lucky. I’m glad I am.

This post was written as part of National Health Blog Post Month (NHBPM) – 30 health posts in 30 days: http://bit.ly/vU0g9J

Admiring Our Heroes

I recently watched a movie called “Love and Other Drugs” where Anne Hathaway plays Maggie Murdock, a character who has early-onset Parkinson’s disease. I think the movie was actually a romantic comedy of sorts, with people running around naked, and enough drugs to fill a doctor’s office. The lead character, Jamie Randall (Jake Gyllenhaal), was a pharmaceutical rep…where is your mind at?

The “I notice you have an invisible illness, I have an invisible illness too” side of me could identify with a lot of the trials that Maggie was going through, even though they were sometimes probably downplayed for the sake of the film having popular appeal. One particular bit of dialog in the movie really stood out for me, because it resonates so loud in our world with diabetes, an incurable disease like Parkinson’s.

Maggie Murdock: I’m gonna need you more than you need me.
Jamie Randall: That’s okay.
Maggie Murdock: [crying] No it’s not! It isn’t *fair*! I have places to go!
Jamie Randall: You’ll go there. I just may have to carry you.
Maggie Murdock: …I can’t ask you to do that.
Jamie Randall: You didn’t.

Well break my heart. If that doesn’t connect with you, you’re cold-hearted and you need to go find a puppy or a kitten to hug on (stat!) before you freeze to death.

Think about your world with diabetes for a minute. Think about the times that you’ve needed someone, and they’ve been there, without you ever having to ask them to be. Think about the reality of knowing that there may come a time, at some point, where you will have to rely on someone else far more than you will be able to rely on yourself. Think about how guilty and vulnerable that makes you feel. It’s scary, and a really hard thing to admit to ourselves and accept. Although we strive so hard each and every day to manage our diabetes in such a way that maintains our independence and well-being, sometimes the unpredictability of it wins, and we need a little help.

Take a deep breath, because it’s okay.

Think about how lucky we are to have someone…a partner, a parent, a sibling, a friend, a coworker, a roommate, a neighbor, and sometimes even a trained dog…who is there for us, even when we can’t ask them to be.

Want to know who I admire? It’s those heroes.

Take a moment and read this post from one of my favorite bloggers, Saucy…well, her significant other, actually: FF’s Take On Diabetes

A Type 3 Valentine

I have been harassed gently and repeatedly encouraged to write about my Type 3 for awhile now. I struggle with this, for multiple reasons. Okay, really only one reason: I don’t have a cool nickname for her. I want to call her A-Flizzle and make her sound gangsta, but I’m going to try and keep it real and just call her my girlfriend, Amanda.

I’d like to say that she is a Type 3 in training, but that wouldn’t be an accurate description exactly. We’re all in training. I mean, who really knows everything about diabetes…ever? Maybe just those doctors that say there will be a cure in five years. They seem to know everything. Until about 20 years later, when you realize they were full of baloney. But that’s a different blog post.

Amanda (aka, A-Flizzle) used to live near a friend who had diabetes. They would be out and about together, and she often found herself carrying a BG kit around in her purse. I think that is probably when she first started her Type 3 training. Fortunately, she never had to learn about the nitty-gritty details of diabetes life itself. As I’ve written before, us PWD’s can be very good at hiding our disease when we want to. For years I was one of them, and still am in certain situations.

One thing that I’ve been making an effort to do is to not hide my diabetes anymore. It doesn’t necessarily define me by itself, but it is a big part of who I am. I could hide it, and that is my natural instinct sometimes, but with age and time I find myself often asking a simple question about hiding my diabetes…why? It would be an absolute travesty to need help with a low blood sugar at some random and inopportune time and the people around me not know what is wrong with me or how to help me. I am an advocate for diabetes, and a major part of that is increasing awareness, educating others, and being a real live human bean that is trying everyday to show this disease who is boss.

With A-to-the-Flizzle, I’ve never once had to hide my diabetes, or any aspect of it. She accepts that I’m bionic with my pancreas on a string. She doesn’t find random gadgets attached to me as being signs of weakness. She doesn’t always know what I’m feeling, or what is going on when I say “I’m low” or “I’m high,” but she’s learning. Aren’t we all?

The CGM has been a real asset in her learning about my diabetes. She recognizes the beeping, and asks “What’s your pump saying?” I appreciate when she asks, because it’s an opportunity to connect my disposition (grumpy, tired, hungry) with my BG level. Sometimes they are related. But not always. That’s diabetes.

I live close enough to my CGM that I can usually tell what it’s saying just by the tones of the beeps it makes. Amanda hasn’t quite learned those yet, but she will (like when I’m sleeping and my CGM is yelling and screaming at me to wake up). In the meantime, she’s along on this diabetes journey just like me. She knows that if I say “I’m low, I need _____,” that it’s no joke. She’s learning that if I say, “I’m high,” it generally comes with a feeling of nauseousness, grumpiness, and all around lethargy.

The awesome thing about Amanda is that she accepts me AND my diabetes. One of my biggest fears is that someone might see me and the ugly side of D (like a severe low blood sugar) and hold it against me. From experiences I’ve had with others, I know that it is hard for a non-diabetic to not blame us for what this disease can do to us, even when we have the best control. They care about us, and hate to see us completely powerless, and natural instinct and lack of understanding wants to point the blame at someone. But it’s rarely someone’s fault; it’s someTHING’s fault. That thing is diabetes.

So this Valentine’s Day I wanted to share with all of you about my Type 3. I can have a great day with diabetes, and she cares. I can have a terrible day with diabetes, and she still cares. She never holds my diabetes against me, and I know that as long as I don’t give up, she won’t give up on me either. We should all be so lucky.

	Rick Phillips on I Lied
	Tina on A Bunch of Sensitive Pric…
	Heather Gabel on Diabetes as a Disability
	Martin on Diabetes as a Disability
	Heather Gabel on Diabetes as a Disability