Our daughter starts back at school today. It’s her first day at secondary school – a significant day, and as I waved good bye to her this morning, watching her walk into the school theatre for morning briefing, I realised that this is one of those really big transitions in a person’s life. And a parent’s life too…

I managed to wait until after the Principal’s address to parents, and after leaving school grounds to get a little teary, so I’m calling the morning a win all around!

As I drove into work, I thought about all the things we’d done to get ready for the day. We’d attended information sessions, gone on school tours, enrolled in cello lessons, decided which language to learn, ordered and collected text books and stationery, organised a public transport pass, learnt how to use the school’s intranet, done a few practice school runs on the tram and many other things that we did as we thought of them.

The check list we were working from seemed endless and we kept adding tasks to it. But we made it, and by last night, her schoolbag was packed and she was ready for her first day.

But our story is common and all families with children starting at (or back at) school have done similar things. However, there are some families who have a whole lot more to do than just make sure they have the right coloured pencils and appropriate snacks in the lunchbox.

There are over 11,000 preschool and school-aged children here in Australia with diabetes, and they – along with their parents – face different and extra challenges preparing for their first days of school. In addition to the things I’ve mentioned above, they have another checklist that needed to be dealt with. The diabetes at school checklist.

While they are packing school bags with books and pencils and lunch for the day, they are also building hypo kits to be delivered throughout their child’s school. They will probably have spent some – maybe considerable – time with teachers explaining some diabetes basics and what to do in the case of a diabetes emergency.

It’s likely that their child’s healthcare team will have been involved in preparing some sort of management plan for the school, outlining how to support the child during the school day, with extra attention given to activities such as sports days, PE lessons, camps and excursions.

Possibly, their school will have undertaken some formal training, such as the School Seminars offered by Diabetes Victoria. They should have received a copy of Mastering Diabetes and hopefully shared the school-relevant information with their child’s teachers and other school staff.

It’s a lot to think about. And it’s understandable why many parents feel a lot of concern, especially when you consider that there is no standard requirement by schools when it comes to supporting children and adolescents with diabetes.

And, quite frankly, that’s not good enough.

Since returning from holidays this year, the majority of my work has centred around diabetes and schools, and today Diabetes Australia launched a new report calling for a systematic, nationally consistent approach to supporting children and young people with diabetes in the school setting. Children and adolescents with diabetes have a right to fully participate in all school activities, but to do so does require training and commitment.

It’s time to move away from the mixed-bag, approach that is in place now, where it seems that luck determines if a school is well prepared and teachers are well trained. Kids with diabetes deserve much, much better.

You can read the report here and the media release here.

I work for Diabetes Australia and have been involved in the preparation of this work and the media release. I have also been involved in some media interviews about this issue.

I was rushing around the house getting ready – nothing unusual, nothing strange. I was talking to Aaron and the kidlet, and we were making plans to grab a coffee before really starting our day.

I walked into the bedroom and reached into my bag for my meter. I needed to silence the calibration alarm that had, for about the last hour, been reminding me that it was time to check my glucose level and enter it into my Dex app.

I sat on the edge of the bed, inserted a strip into the port and primed my lancet for use. As I pushed it against the side of my finger, I froze.

My breathing quickened and I could feel my heart rate also speeding up. My hands were slightly trembling.

I put everything next to me on the bed, shaking out my hands, as though I was trying to dry water from them.

I took a deep breath, tried to refocus, and picked up everything again.

Reinserted strip.
Lancet still primed and ready.
Finger waiting for sting.

Nope; couldn’t do it. My right hand, which was holding the lancet, just refused to do what my brain was telling it to do. It was frozen. The thumb was poised on the release button at the side of the lancet, but refused to add the required pressure to fire the needle through my skin.

I suddenly flashed back to a session I had done years ago with first year med students where they were all asked to check their BGL and give themselves a saline injection to their stomachs.

I remembered that there were a small group who seemed paralysed when asked to stab themselves. And I remembered the young person I had sat next to, gently coaxing them to have a go while secretly thinking they were being pathetic and should just bloody well get on with it.

Right then, I felt pathetic. Why couldn’t I just bloody well get on with it? I’ve have jabbed my finger thousands and thousands of times and never, ever frozen up like this – not even the first time I did it almost 19 years ago.

I put down my kit and walked out of the room. I went into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water and drank it down. I walked out into the back garden, watered the lemon and cherry trees, inspecting all their new growth, proud that we hadn’t killed either of them. Yet.

The dogs were running and jumping around me and I reached down to pat Bella, and then sat down for a moment, raising my face to the sun and letting the sunshine warm my skin. My breathing had returned to normal.

I sat there for a while and then went back inside, continuing to get ready. Once organised, I threw everything I needed for the day in my bag – included my meter – and headed out the door, and we walked to our local for a coffee.

We ordered, and mid-conversation, I reached into my bag and subconsciously readied my meter and lancet again: auto pilot firmly on, brain not fully engaged. I heard a click as the lancet released and saw the drop of blood, quickly squeezing it onto the waiting strip.

I focused. The number came up. I entered it into my phone. And put away all my equipment into my bag. Where it waits for next time. And the next.

And the next.

This is Bella (from a few months ago when she was in need of a haircut).

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is living with diabetes is easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is living with diabetes is affordable.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is everyone around the world can access free insulin and other diabetes supplies.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is there are enough HCPs who understand diabetes.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is that person-centred care is real, not just three words in a row.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is that diabetes stigma does not exist.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is diabetes technology never, ever fails.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is fresh, healthy foods are easily and affordably accessible for all.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is everyone with diabetes has the support they need.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is that nobody dies from diabetes.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is there is no judgement in diabetes. Ever.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is diabetes is not a punchline on SNL.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is reported accurately and sensitively by the media.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is diabetes is spoken about with inclusive, empowering language.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is coffee is a food group. And so is Nutella.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is my favourite DOC people lived on the other side of the street, not the other side of the globe.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is diabetes conferences are organised by people with diabetes.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is true engagement with people with diabetes is not tokenistic, but rather intrinsic, coordinated and meaningful.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is insulin pump lines never fail.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is children with diabetes have the same opportunities as children without.

In my alternate reality, the alternate fact is my CGM always reads 5.5.

Actually, in my alternate reality, the alternate fact is that I don’t have diabetes.

Alas, there is no alternate reality. And there are no alternate facts.

Brilliant! From illustrator, Tim O’Brien (click image for details).


With millions of people across the globe, I marched for women’s rights on Saturday. Alongside my beautiful daughter – who is growing into a fearless and fierce activist herself – I stood in solidarity with my sisters from all continents of the world, as we called for protection of our rights.

Solidarity Sisters!

Solidarity Sisters!

It was beautiful in Melbourne – a true mid-Summer day with stunning clear blue skies and a hot sun overhead. We stood on the steps of the State Library – my favourite place in the city – and listened as women from all walks shared their stories and urged us to stand up, rise up and never give up.

After a while, the kidlet and I walked to the back of the crowd, looking for some shade. We found a park bench and she looked for a vantage point to get a look at the rally and wander around to take some photos as I sat down at the other end of the bench to calibrate my CGM.

I quickly pricked my finger and squeezed blood onto the strip. When the number came up, I entered it into the Dex app on my phone.

The woman sitting next to me on the park bench smiled over at me. ‘Me too,’ she said, holding up the bag of jelly beans she was eating.

I beamed back at her. ‘Are you okay? The heat isn’t helping, is it?’

‘I’ll be fine. Just need a few minutes before the march starts. I’ll be okay.’

I smiled again and stood up. ‘We always are, right? Enjoy the march.’

‘I will,’ she said. ‘And you too. One foot in front of the other.’

I nodded. ‘It’s the only way.’

I walked over to the kidlet and we made our way back through the crowd.



Back in 2012 when we were thinking of starting the #OzDOC weekly Twitter chat, Kim, Simon and I were committed to making sure that it was a safe place, welcoming to all who wanted to use it. We encouraged people to actively participate, lurk in the background, jump in and out as they needed.

I had always been so impressed with the non-toxic and inviting place the #DSMA chat was, welcoming people with all types of diabetes as well as a few health care professionals, and I hoped that we could replicate this environment, albeit on a smaller scale, with #OzDOC.

Pleasingly, that’s the way it started and now, it continues to be that way. While I’m no longer involved in the running of OzDOC, or moderating its weekly chats, whenever I do drop by to participate, it is clear that the safe and inclusive model that formed its foundation continues.

It has been great to see that the encouragement of healthcare professionals to join in – lurk at first to get the idea and then respectfully participate – has continued, and frequently, a DNE or dietitian or endo will pop in and contribute.

But last night, during the chat, there was an intrusion that was not respectful. In fact, I likened it to someone bursting, uninvited, into my house and yelling that they didn’t like the way we’d decorated it and then offering to fix it as long as I paid them. I bristled immediately. And felt protective of the people in the #OzDOC room who had been so candidly and honestly sharing their thoughts.

This was a particularly delicate chat. Ashley had more than expertly navigated the sometimes tricky waters of a discussion about the place diabetes fits in our lives, and ended the chat with a question about burn out. It is a testament to the space that is #OzDOC to just how candid and honest people were in their responses.

So, the idea that someone tweeted something about how so many participants were clearly living with ‘out of control’ diabetes and then linked to her fee-for-service website, was not only inappropriate, but also insensitive, thoughtless and showed a true lack of understanding of what people with diabetes are dealing with.

My mother hen instinct kicked in. I had just laid myself bare as I used words that describe burn out to me, and others had as well. This was absolutely not the moment to promote a business and, at the same time, tell people they were doing a crappy job at managing their diabetes. And there is no place for judgement in this chat, especially from someone so clearly out-of-touch.

While my response was somewhat reflexive and probably could have done with a moment away from the keyboard before hitting the ‘tweet’ button, I don’t regret that I did it. And the responses from others in the chat suggested they too were feeling uncomfortable about the intrusion to the discussion.

I was furious that someone had so aggressively and judgementally invaded the safe space that has been so carefully cultivated. ‘Out of control’ diabetes? Really? Fuck off. (Actually, that was the response I wanted to type, but kept myself nice, so maybe I wasn’t as harsh as I thought.)

My concern about this intrusion was twofold. Primarily, I would hate for any person with diabetes to feel afraid of participating in any sort of peer-based activity for fear of being judged. We get enough of that outside of the spaces we create for ourselves and certainly shouldn’t have it forced upon us in our own groups.

But also, I would hate for any HCPs to think that they are not welcome to participate. They most certainly are, however the respect, lack of judgement and kindness expected by participants is expected of everyone. If they are unable to demonstrate that, stay away.

I’m not naming and shaming the person who tweeted last night. The tweet has been removed anyway. But, I would absolutely encourage them to come back next week and the week after and the week after that to learn. Watch what goes on in these chats, listen to what people are saying, understand the real-life sensitivities of diabetes.

And then, feel free to softly, softly join in. Respectfully ask questions (after asking if it is okay to ask questions) if there is something that needs clarifying. Gently share ideas that may be of benefit. But absolutely do not try to sell something. And check your judgement at the door.


Sometimes, I’m a lousy person with diabetes (PWD). I am thoughtless and unclear about what I need, have ridiculous expectations of others – and myself, and am lazy. But I’m not always like that. And I think I know what I need to do to be better.

Being a better PWD is about being true to myself. It is also about reflecting on exactly what I need and I hope to get it.

  • I need to remember that diabetes is not going away
  • I need to remember that the here and now is just as important as the future
  • I need to remember that I don’t have to like diabetes, but I have to do diabetes
  • I need to remember that the diabetes support teams around me really only have my best interest at heart, and to go easy on them when I am feeling crap
  • I need to empty my bag of used glucose strips more frequently to stop the strip glitter effect that follows me wherever I go
  • I need to remember that it is not anyone else’s job to understand what living with my brand of diabetes is all about
  • I need to remember that the frustrating and tiresome nature of diabetes is part of the deal
  • I need to be better at changing my pump line regularly
  • I need my diabetes tasks to be more meaningful – quit the diabetes ennui and make smarter decisions
  • And I need to own those decisions
  • I need to see my endocrinologist
  • I need to decide what I want to do with my current diabetes technology. There is nothing new coming onto the market that I want, but what about a DIY project to try something new? #OpenAPS anyone…?
  • Or, I need to work out how to convince the people at TSlim to launch their pump here in Australia
  • I need to check and adjust my basal rates
  • I need to do more reading about LCHF and decide if I want to take a more committed approach or continue with the somewhat half-arsed, but manageable and satisfactory way I’m doing it now
  • I need to remind myself that my tribe is always there and ask for help when I need it.
  • I need to make these!

And being a better PWD is knowing what I need from my HCPs and working out how to be clear about it, rather than expecting them to just know. (I forget that Legilimency is not actually something taught at medical school. #HarryPotterDigression)

So, if I was to sit down with my HCPs (or if they were to read my blog), this is what I would say:

  • I need you to listen
  • I need you to tell me what you need from me as well. Even though this is my diabetes and I am setting the agenda, I do understand that you have some outcomes that you would like to see as well. Talk to me about how they may be relevant to what I am needing and how we can work together to achieve what we both need.
  • I need you to be open to new ideas and suggestions. My care is driven by me because, quite simply, I know my diabetes best. I was the one who instigated pump therapy, CGM, changes to my diet and all the other things I do to help live with diabetes
  • I need you to understand that you are but one piece of the puzzle that makes up my diabetes. It is certainly an important piece and the puzzle cannot be completed without you, but there are other pieces that are also important
  • I need you to remember that diabetes is not who I am, even though it is the reason you and I have been brought together
  • And to that – I need you to understand that I really wish we hadn’t been brought together because I hate living with diabetes
  • I need you to remember that I set the rules to this diabetes game. And also, that there are no rules to this diabetes game
  • I need you to understand that I feel very fortunate to have you involved in my care. I chose you because you are outstanding at what you, sparked an interest and are able to provide me what I need
  • I need you to know that I really want to please you. I know that is not my job – and I know that you don’t expect it – but I genuinely don’t want to disappoint you and I am sorry when I do
  • I want you to know that I respect and value your expertise and professionalism
  • I need you to know that I hope you respect and value mine too.

And being a better PWD is being clear to my loved ones (who have the unfortunate and unpleasant experience of seeing me all the time – at my diabetes best and my diabetes worst) and helping them understand that:

  • I need you to love me
  • I need you to nod your heads when I say that diabetes sucks
  • I need you to know I don’t need solutions when things are crap. But a back rub, an episode of Gilmore Girls or a trip to Brunetti will definitely make me feel better, even if they don’t actually fix the crapness
  • Kid – I need you to stop borrowing my striped clothes. And make me a cup of tea every morning and keep an endless supply of your awesome chocolate brownies available in the kitchen
  • Aaron – I like sparkly things and books. And somewhere, there is evidence proving that both these things have a positive impact on my diabetes. In lieu of such evidence, trust and indulge me!
  • I need you to know I am sorry I have brought diabetes into our  lives
  • I need you to know how grateful I am to have you, even when I am grumpy and pissed because I am low, or grumpy and pissed because I am high, or grumpy and pissed because I am me.

Today is my first day back at work. I spent the weekend preparing for the day by sitting in the sunshine, drinking coffee, deadheading rose bushes and switching back on the part of my brain that thinks about work. And remembering how to walk in high heels.

The new year looms ahead. It’s huge. There are things to finish from last year and lots of new projects waiting to begin. And starting fresh with a clean slate and thinking strategically about how to get things done is important.

I don’t really do New Year’s resolutions. I’m lousy at committing to anything remotely healthy, so there is no point in trying to promise to do something that I’ll do for two days, then stop doing and then feel bad at myself for not doing it anymore.

I don’t really want to use the New Year to focus on diabetes by concentrating on particular tasks or specific measures. Outcomes seem to be organic and setting goals, while a noble gesture, often lead to disappointment. Feeling like a failure is not how I want to begin the year!

But I do like the idea of embracing the New Year and cracking open its spine, revealing clean pages and new beginnings.

Australian writer and publisher, Mia Freeman, shared that last year, she came up with a word that would help draw her attention to her plans for the year ahead, and has done the same for this year.

I like this idea – the thought of having some sort of directive that would be an overarching theme for decision making and planning, and would, hopefully, mean that I ended the year feeling a success rather than just a shattered and weary mess.

Because I have found myself pretty exhausted at the end of the last few years. I know everyone is – we get to a point where we are just done and need a break. I felt as though I was burnt out with life when I went on leave, and the much needed holiday was about getting back to a place where I felt I could tackle what lay ahead.

With this in mind, I wanted my word to help me avoid that burn out, so that come the end of the year, the exhaustion I felt was not so overwhelming.

So, I spent some of the time we were in New York auditioning words, trying them out, rolling them around on my tongue and hearing them in my mind, thinking what they could mean for me throughout 2017. As I walked around the snowy streets, I projected how I wanted to feel at the end of this year and what I would need to get there.

The word I have settled on is pause.

As soon as I said it, I knew it was the right word. I wrote it down, over and over, thinking about how it could shape and help plan my year. I wrote it on scraps of paper and shoved them into my purse and handbag to remind me. And the minute I walked into my office this morning, I wrote it on a post-it and stuck it to my wall.

Pause doesn’t mean that I will be stopping anything I’m doing. It doesn’t even necessarily mean I’ll be cutting back. But it does mean that before committing to anything new, continuing with something old or exploring different ways of doing things, I will pause and think about why and how I am doing it.

The tendency to simply say yes to everything serves no one – the results are me not doing things as well as I might like or feeling disappointed with the end result.

I also am seeing how I can adapt the word to suit my diabetes management. I think that too often, I am on autopilot, not really thinking about what it is that I am doing. To pause means giving meaning to actions, attention to decision making and focus to the way I choose to manage my diabetes. Jumping on a bandwagon because it has been written up in a few different diabetes magazines – without pausing to consider if it is right for me – really makes no sense. I am very guilty of wanting, needing the latest toy without necessarily stopping to think if it will serve any purpose.

There is already a lot in the calendar for 2017 – all the way through to its end with the IDF’s World Diabetes Congress rounding out the busy year in December. I’m the Deputy Stream Lead for the Living with Diabetes Stream, so there is no chance of slowing down as the year winds down.

So, with all this in mind, my word for the year is going to help shape how I approach things. I’ll have to see how it goes and I expect I’ll need to pull myself back at times, reminding myself to stop, think and, perhaps, wait. And then, as I pause, take the time to let things sink in, catch up and take shape.

On 11 January in 1922, a 14-year-old boy in Toronto was given the first insulin injection to treat diabetes. His name was Leonard Thompson, and he lived for another 13 years, before dying of pneumonia when he was 27 years old.

When he was given insulin for the first time, Leonard was on the only treatment available at the time for those diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. He was on a starvation diet, and he was close to death, drifting in and out of a coma because of diabetic ketoacidosis.

There are dates each year that trigger reminder lessons in the discovery of insulin. On those days, I say a silent thank you to Banting and Best for their work, grateful to them for my life and I peek into my refrigerator at the vials of insulin within easy reach for when they are needed.

But I also feel a great sense of sadness and frustration, because today, ninety-five years after Leonard Thompson was given his first insulin injection, this miracle drug is still inaccessible to so many people with diabetes. And people are dying, suffering in the way that Leonard was before he was given the drug for the first time.

Yes, I said ‘suffering’. And I don’t use that word. I don’t suffer from diabetes – I live with it. But make no mistake, someone who cannot access insulin and is dying from diabetic ketoacidosis is suffering. They are in pain; their body is in distress. They are dying.

The playing field is so un-level and that is simply not fair. So if you are able to – if you are one of the fortunate ones with insulin in your fridge, please do consider donating to those who are not.

Insulin for Life Global needs donations to fund transport costs for delivering insulin to those most in need. AUD$12.50 will cover the cost of sending two weeks’ worth of insulin.

Around Valentine’s Day each year, Spare a Rose, Save a Child suggests sending 11 instead of 12 roses. The AUD$6 saved provides insulin for a month to child with diabetes through the IDF’s Life for a Child program.

And for AUD$10, T1 International will send out their advocacy toolkit to five people with type 1 diabetes, providing information about how they can stand up for their rights.

Click image for source

(Click image for source)


My darling friend, Annie.

My darling friend, Annie.

On the last Tuesday of 2016, I stood on a street corner in New York squealing in delight, and without an ounce of shame, jumped up and down hugging my dear friend Annie, tears of joy forming in our eyes. We had finally pulled off a meeting of our two clans. It took our family to travel from Melbourne and hers from a couple of hours outside London, but we did it.

Once we remembered that there were other people on the street, we set to introducing our families to each other. Our husbands shook each other’s hands, and our girls shyly greeted each other with hugs. That was the last moment of shyness for the rest of the week.

Our families have had a week of being tourists in the most wonderful city in the world. We looked at the Manhattan skyline from across the Brooklyn Bridge; we soared to the top of the Rockefeller Building, gazing across the city as the sun started to set from dozens of stories above the ground; we sat in cafes, warming up on coffee and hot chocolate and wonderful conversation; we wandered through Central Park as snowflakes started to fall, the girls unable to believe their luck as they ran with their arms outstretched catching the snow; we saw in 2017 standing in Central Park with fireworks exploding over our heads with the promise of a new year. And throughout it all, diabetes was managed by those of us who wear our pancreas on the outside of our bodies – but didn’t for a moment affect the time we were having.


Annie and I know each other because of diabetes. She is mother to three extraordinary girls, one (Pumplette) who happens to have diabetes. I’ve linked to her blog many times here, and if you’ve not popped by yet, please do!

We often spoke about how wonderful it would be to introduce our families – although we did have some concerns at our girls actually being able to discuss their neglectful mothers who, it seems, abandon them at the drop of a hat to rush off to some diabetes conference or another.

We made it happen this week, and our girls barely paused for breath, chatting constantly, getting excited at all the city has to offer and amusing themselves with endless rounds of Banagram. Our kidlet was thrilled to have three new friends and couldn’t get enough of spending time with them.

Friends for life.

Friends for life.

And then tonight, after a last meal, we said goodbye. As we rode on the subway from the restaurant to our apartment, the tears started. And  they continued as Annie, her husband and their beautiful three girls left our apartment for the last time to head back to their own. Our kid and Pumplette had not let each other go since leaving the restaurant and parting was particularly hard for them. They had really hit it off – in the same way that their mothers had. I watched my girl with Annie’s girl and knew that she had made a friend for life.

We closed our apartment door. Annie and her family headed for the elevator and I sat next to our kidlet on the couch as floods of tears started. I hugged her tight, promising that it would not be the last time that she saw the girls. I reminded her that Annie and I live on opposite sides of the world and are in contact all the time – that we speak and message and FaceTime frequently.

And I reminded her how wonderful it was that as 2016 ended and 2017 started she had made three wonderful new friends. She nodded and wiped away her tears. ‘I miss them already,’ she said. And I nodded too. Because I understand how that feels. I know the elation of seeing friends from far flung places and then, when saying farewell, not knowing when we will see each other again. But the beauty of it is that while it hurts to say goodbye, there is an endless promise of saying hello again. And I assured it that she would say hello and hug those girls again. Many, many times.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Seeing in the New Year.

There is so much around at the moment that I wanted to write about properly. But it’s holidays and there is champagne and my kid made brownies with toffee popcorn on top and the neighbours came over for drinks and didn’t leave and I need to pack to go to New York.

So here are some links for some holiday reading.

THIS piece

The title of this piece sure seems to have riled up some people, but bloody hell, just read it. Anna Floreen, who is pretty damn awesome, has written this fabulous piece, sharing her experiences of going through the teen years with diabetes. A must read for parents of kids with diabetes to get some insight into what young people think about dealing with diabetes.

THESE biscuits

These have become my holiday favourites this year and I’ve made about 4,326 batches of them! Four ingredients, super-dooper easy, delicious and look impressive. Plus, they are gluten free, so great as a gift for friends with coeliac disease. What more could you want?


I’ve had the recipe for them scrawled in my recipe book for years – I can’t remember where I first copied it down from – and this from the New York Times is pretty much how I have been making them.

THIS news

Great update about the work Ed Damiano is doing on the Bionic Pancreas just published in The Lancet. The study has shown some pretty exciting results. It’s getting close – really close – and that is just so damn exciting! Maybe we can out one on our Xmas lists next year…

THIS study

If you are a young woman (aged between 16 and 25 years) living in Victoria, Australia, you can take part in a women’s health study, which is looking at the relationships between lifestyle behaviour, physical health and mental wellbeing.

You’ll be reimbursed for your time, so get involved! All the details are here.

THIS poorly worded sign

For the love of all that is good: proof read, people. Please, proof read!



THIS good news

Great news from the Australia Diabetes Society who has just released a new position statement about scuba diving and diabetes, recognising that motivated individuals with well-controlled diabetes (both insulin-requiring and non-insulin requiring), may be able to safely participate in recreational diving.  

THIS story

You know, there are some people in the DOC world who are worth their weight in gold. Lou Vickers is one of them. Read her story here.

THIS (slightly old) article

This piece, from Dr Katherine Barnard and Dr Jill Weissberg-Benchell, was published just after ATTD this year (back in Feb) and provides comment on the relationship between diabetes technology and psychosocial aspects of diabetes. A very interesting read, especially considering the way DTech is moving!

THIS position statement

 The National Health and Medical Research Council and the Consumer Health Forum of Australia have released a revised statement about the involvement of consumers in health and medical research. 

THIS time of year

So, we’re heading off for a couple of weeks and I’ll occasionally be checking in, but probably not much as we’ll be spending a lot of time trying to keep warm on the cold streets of New York.

Thank you so much for reading, commenting and sharing Diabetogenic this year. The love and support I constantly am afforded by people who read posts here is astounding and makes living with diabetes that little bit easier. I wish I could adequately say just how grateful I am.

I’m looking forward to an exciting 2017 – there is already so much on the horizon with exciting projects, collaborations, activities and plans being hatched. It’s shaping up to be a very busy year, so I’m looking forward to a little downtime over the holiday time.

Season’s greetings to you all. I hope you manage some rest, relaxation and quiet reflection in the coming weeks. I’ll see you in the New Year.

Season’s greetings from my clan to yours.

Read about Renza

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