Dr. Jim Hill is a friend of mine and co-developer of the National Weight Control Registry – the nation’s largest database of individuals who have lost at least 30 pounds and kept off the weight for at least 1 year. Jim has been studying their commonalities – and has determined that there is in fact a recipe for long-term weight loss success. I shared the recipe with ABC news today. My interviewer (Natasha Barrett) was really funny, and had tendencies to blurt questions in the middle of our conversation (such as: “what do you think of granola bars?”)
The idea of creating a game about diabetes both intrigues me and creeps me out a little bit. Diabetes is a game? I guess after an evening of “WHY 200? WHY?!!” I’m not feeling so light and fluffy about diabetes. But I see the potential for kids to learn about diabetes and its management through the use of games, so I’m all so for whatever gets good information out there. And over the last few days, I’ve come across two particularly interesting games, thanks to reader alerts, aimed at kids who either have diabetes or have friends with diabetes.
The first game is on the Nobel Prize educational games site and it’s cleverly called The Diabetic Dog game. (Wee bit short on imagination once they got to the naming part, I suppose.) I will admit – I played this game for at least 15 minutes and I appreciated the cuteness of the doggy.
As a “caretaker,” I was instructed to keep my diabetic doggy (named, in my profile, “DoggyPants”) happy (by petting him), well-fed (by purchasing food for him), getting him to exercise (by walking him), and keeping his blood sugar in check by giving him insulin injections. Keeping an eye on the bar at the bottom left of my screen let me know what DoggyPants’s blood sugar was, and I could feed and dose him accordingly.
(Sidenote: Having that bar gauge with his blood sugar in it sure helped me figure out what I was doing, and I wondered if the developers of this Diabetic Dog Game realized how they’re helping further the case for continuous glucose monitors.)
Overall, I liked how this game showed the importance of insulin, food choices, and exercise as the cornerstones for good diabetes management, and it didn’t tout insulin as “a cure.” Basically, all you do is chase this little puppy around and feed him or dose him or walk him. Constant cycle of redundancy, only the results aren’t predictable. Kind of like real life. 🙂
The other game I have been receiving reader alerts on is the Didget from Bayer. I haven’t seen this game in person, but according to the word on the street (read: their website), “The Didget blood glucose meter from Bayer is the only meter that plugs into a Nintendo DS or Nintendo DS Lite gaming system to reward children for consistent testing.”
So it’s an actual meter that snaps into the Nintendo system. (It appears to be, or be completely identical to, the former “GlucoBoy” from a bit ago.) Honestly, that is pretty darn cool, and I wish that kind of “fun” was available when I was testing my blood sugar as a kid. Hell, I’d like to have that kind of positive reinforcement NOW, thank you very much.
“This unique meter helps encourage consistent testing with reward points that children can use to buy items within the game and unlock new game levels. And, since the DIDGET meter is based on Bayer’s trusted CONTOUR™ system, you know you’re getting a meter that’s reliable.” They are also building a community for kids to “hang out in” virtually, comparing notes. Of course, since it’s Bayer, they need to slide in their personal product endorsement, but they have the right idea. Test often, get rewarded for keeping tabs on your numbers, and maybe Nick Jonas will show up at your house and give you a hug.
That last part? A lie. But Bayer is working its way into the hearts of kids with diabetes, and as a former kid with diabetes myself, I would have appreciated that kind of innovation as part of my childhood with this disease. From what I can tell so far, this meter is being marketed towards diabetics in the UK, but hopefully there will be a United States counterpart. With mg/dl readings. Because doing conversions when low? Not so easy.
So there you have it. We’ve come a long way from that game with the elephants or the other one about the Escape from Diab, and hopefully more efforts will be made to engage kids – and adults! – with diabetes. Positive reinforcement is hard to come by in this whole diabetes mess, so every little bit helps.
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*
After a hectic week with the conference in Philly and then Chris’s great news, I need to spend some time today catching up on everything. Thankfully, Jessica Phillips has offered to guest post today, writing about marking 500 days with type 1 diabetes. She’s come a long way, and I’m proud to host her words here on SUM.
Heeeeeeere’s Jessica!
* * *
As I was injecting myself with insulin on a lunch break at work, a co-worker walked by and exclaimed, “I could never do that! EW! I hate needles!” Less than two years ago I might have agreed. I never had a strong phobia of needles, but that is not to say that I particularly liked them either. I was known in my childhood to run out of doctor’s offices into the parking lot at the first mention of “shot”. Now when I hear such a strong and callous remark to my now normal routine of insulin injections, I struggle with trying not to angrily reply, “Well you would have to give yourself shots if you had to in order to live!” or, “How do you think I feel? You think I want to do this?” I’ve learned as of late to simply smile and say, “It’s not easy.”
Reactions like this are commonplace for those of you who have experienced Type One Diabetes for many years, and even some for the majority of your life. For me, June 9th, 2009 marked my 500th day with type 1 diabetes. I was diagnosed in my hometown of San Diego, California on January 25th, 2008 at 26 years-old. For a couple months prior to diagnosis I had been experiencing the typical signs of hyperglycemia and a failing pancreas as I was constantly dehydrated, urinating, and tired. Being a college student and in a constant state of stress, I quickly attributed the majority of my symptoms, from dizziness to infections, to be solely related to my immune system’s battle with my constant stress. After many weeks of procrastinating, I finally urged my doctor to order a blood test. I went in to the lab on January 23rd and was called by my doctor 24 hours later while I was driving to school. The tone in her voice immediately caught my attention and set me in a state of alarm. She informed me that my blood sugar the day before was above 300 mg/dL and I was to avoid sugar and be referred to an endocrinologist immediately.
Luckily I was able to see an experienced endocrinologist the next day, and he diagnosed me with type 1 within minutes of being seated in the exam room. I was in complete shock, and felt confused, angry, and overwhelmingly sad all at the same time. I felt a struggle between trying to remain alert to the bombardment of information he was feeding me, and trying desperately not to cry. The doctor left the room to retrieve my new meter and insulin pens, and I lost it. Luckily I had some moral support with me, but I have never felt so alone and lost. I kept thinking, “how did this happen?” and, “what did I do wrong?” To have gone many years without having anything major occur medically, not even a broken bone, it was a major shock to hear I had something irreversibly wrong with me. I not only had something wrong, but I could not do anything to change it.
The next few days were extremely challenging to say the least. I was unable to give myself insulin and had to have someone else do it for me for the first couple days. I would sit and look at the needle and could not conceive of how this tiny piece of metal was going to go through my skin. I just kept thinking it was so wrong, and foreign. I also cried. A lot. And I researched online and in books so much that I felt as though I could speak at a lecture on the biology of diabetes. I found the knowledge empowering, and the more I grasped what my body was actually doing, and not doing, I became more confident in my ability to control my state.
Now, 500 days later, this diabetic routine is normal to me. I can hardly even remember a time when diabetes wasn’t on my mind. The memories have faded of when my blood sugar was not a concern, and when I was able to look at food as just food. The last year and a half has been a giant emotional roller coaster, full of ups and downs, but they have changed me. Sometimes I get the look of sympathy from others when I detail my hardships with this disease, anywhere from medical costs to just the simple annoyance of pricking myself all the time, and I have found myself realizing that although I would not choose to have this disease, I consider myself lucky. I am lucky of course to not have something worse, but having gone through this change has made me look at my life through a new and clearer lens. My bottom-line now is a cliché idea, but it is so true … life is short, and you only get one shot, so make it worth it, no matter what.
* * *
Thanks for sharing your story, Jessica. (And for the record, Jessica is the one with the fantastic hair on the right in that photo. Also for the record, I just realized that today is my 8,209th day with diabetes. Holy crap, my pancreas is lazy.)
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*
I saw my niece over the weekend. She just turned seven. She had a bit of a fever and wasn’t feeling very well, so when I saw her snuggled up on the couch under a blanket, she looked every bit the little kid she is. Poor little peanut, hiding out until she felt better.
I remembered that I was about her age when I was diagnosed.
I found an old school photo from second grade, with me sitting next to my friend Bobby (who I still talk to, which is a very surreal experience, hanging out with someone I’ve known longer than I’ve known insulin injections). I was diagnosed in September, right as second grade started.
I’m in the blue dress, second row from the bottom, third from the left.
Swinging my feet. Not much for sitting still, even in second grade.
Over the last few days, I’ve been reading some emails from the CWD parents as they gear up for the Friends for Life conference in Orlando in a few weeks. These emails are sent out to a whole mailing list of attendees, and somehow I ended up on the list with all the parents. (Or maybe the list just happens to be mostly parents and I just happen to be an adult “kid” with diabetes.) These parents are comparing notes and reaching out to one another, looking forward to other parents who understand what they’re going through every day as they care for their kid with diabetes.
And I wish that my mother had this kind of support when she was dealing with my diagnosis over twenty years ago. My mom had a lackluster team of doctors at the Rhode Island Hospital (where I went for a few months before going to Joslin) and Eleanor (the only other mother of a diabetic kid that we knew of in our town and the woman who just happens to be my local Dexcom rep), leaving her with little to manage the enormous learning curve.
This weekend, I went on a bike ride with my sister-in-law, my father-in-law, and my husband. I had to remember to test beforehand, bring my meter, stash some glucose sources on several people, and monitor as re rode. A lot of thought for maybe an hour long bike ride. And it made me wonder what kind of preparation and worry my mother went through when she sent me out to play for a whole Saturday afternoon. Lot of work on my mom’s part just to keep things normal.
I forget this sometimes, how many people are really involved in keeping me healthy.
I need to call my mom.
(Granted, my diabetes diagnosis hasn’t kept me from doing much at all. And it definitely didn’t keep me from being … um, a bit of a goofball.)
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*
There’s stuff that’s bolus-worthy. New York style cheesecake. Chai tea on a snowy winter day. Wedding cake made out of red velvet with butter cream frosting. These indulgences are worth draining my pump reservoir for, and almost worth the spike I try to, but don’t always, avoid.
I’ve been very, very attentive to my diabetes lately. Logging all these numbers, sporting the Dexcom, trying to manage stress levels, exercising … whatever it takes to make me as healthy as I can be for the baby I want to have someday. But that wagon is hard to stay on all the time, and I have taken a risk or two in the last month. Like a trip on the Connecticut Wine Trail with some friends. And some pasta at Carmine’s last weekend with my sister-in-law.
My diabetes control isn’t made or broken in one bite of a fluffy, delicious cupcake. Usually when I’m having a high sugar indulgence, I’m right on top of things, diabetes-wise. I bolus aggressively to avoid the high and I watch that Dexcom like a hawk for any subsequent lows. My management problems come more in the form of letting my numbers go untracked and pinging all over the place, letting highs creep up without corrections, then stacking boluses until I hit a nasty low, which I over-treat and rebound into a high … you know the cycle. It’s not the “one thing” but more my inability to care for more than an hour or two. The last few weeks of intensive management have been about keeping an eye on everything and not letting the cycle spin out of control.
And it’s hopefully working. My machine averages are down, I’m seeing many hours straight of flat-lines on the CGM, and knowing my Joslin appointment is at the end of July keeps my mind on task.
Besides, it’s not like I ate the whole cupcake. I split it with Chris and I asked for the estimated carb count before I took a bite.
But I did take the first, awkward bite.
And I did enjoy every other bite of it, too. Go ahead and judge! 🙂
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*
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never do that! EW! I hate needles!” Less than two years ago I might have agreed. I never had a strong phobia of needles, but that is not to say that I particularly liked them either. I was known in my childhood to run out of doctor’s offices into the parking lot at the first mention of “shot”. Now when I hear such a strong and callous remark to my now normal routine of insulin injections, I struggle with trying not to angrily reply, “Well you would have to give yourself shots if you had to in order to live!” or, “How do you think I feel? You think I want to do this?” I’ve learned as of late to simply smile and say, “It’s not easy.”
