My sister is pretty cool. She actually got all the cool genes in the family, and I’m okay with that. She also got the biting sense of humour, so I’m a little afraid of her at times. Plus, she got the decent cleavage out of the two of us and, since our teen years, has thought it fitting to bring this up any time she feels like it – no matter who is around.

Toots (her nickname because when she was born I couldn’t say Tonya) is ridiculously successful, has travelled more than anyone else I know, and takes crap from absolutely no one. My kid loves her because Toots does cool things with her, swears like a sailor, and is the embodiment of the inappropriate aunt…and perfect role model for a teenage girl.

A loved one of someone Toots knows was recently diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. She messaged me to see if it would be okay for them to contact me if they needed to. ‘Of course, chicken,’ I said to her. She said thanks, and then made some snarky comment about the shoes I was wearing and hung up on me before I had a chance to think of an equally snarky comeback. (And to be honest, there was no way I would have matched hers.)

Anyway. A couple of days later, she called about something completely unrelated – probably to laugh about something one of our parents had said, or threaten to tell dad after I revealed on Facebook that I wagged every single religion class in year 12 – and as she was about to hang up, she said, ‘Oh wait! So, I was asked about what to do at Easter time with diabetes being so new in the family. I suggested that they go and get some really good quality dark chocolate to share so that the newly diagnosed person wouldn’t feel left out. And just to monitor a little more to keep an eye on their glucose levels. That works, right?

Here’s the thing about my sister. We rarely talk about diabetes. I rarely to her about my own diabetes because, quite frankly, we have far more interesting things to talk about. And shopping to do where I boss her around and she resolutely ignores me, while yelling about how bossy I am.

And yet, she would know a shitload more about diabetes – mine and diabetes in general –than almost anyone else I know. Because that’s what she does. She collects information relevant to people around her and files it away for when they need it.

On Easter, she showed up at our place for breakfast and handed me a huge dark chocolate Haigh’s egg. She’s all about the good stuff – and practising what she preaches.

Sisters can be hard going. We have our moments. But even when she wants to push me off the bed and give me concussion (which she did when we were younger, although she will tell you I fell on my own…), and even though she recently threatened to harm me with my new shoes (admittedly, because it was all I spoke to her about for three weeks), she still has my back.

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