Weekend in Philly

You know those weekends where everything goes terribly, horribly wrong?

People don’t show up. Traffic is terrible so the people who do show up are late. The restaurant you picked is full. The back-up restaurant has lousy service and bad food. Everyone wants to do different things so you end up spending half an hour standing in parking lot debating what to do next and you end up all going in different directions anyway. The ONLY museum you want to go to is closed and you ended up just staring at it before you wander away to the nearest Starbucks. Then you consume too much food and take too little insulin, which leaves your blood sugar hovering near the moon and you’re even more pissed.

Yeah. Those weekends suck.

This, however, was not one of those weekends.

Honestly, everything about this weekend went exactly the way it was supposed to, which makes me the happiest person in the universe.

On Saturday morning, I drove down to Philadelphia to have lunch with some of the coolest, craziest cats in the diabetes community. I arrived at a nearly empty Applebee’s, which was great because it made getting a table for nine people very easy! Soon after, Gary Scheiner arrived, followed by Emily, a friend of Kelly’s, who is studying to be a nurse and is interested in learning more about living with diabetes. So of course she was welcomed! Kelly arrived shortly after that. Then Scott and Joe arrived, along with Hannah and her husband, Matt, followed by Betty.

Getting a group of diabetics (and a handful of T3s) is always a recipe for lively discussion. We spent over three hours at Applebee’s talking about everything from health professionals who irritate us to misconceptions that work to our advantage (using diabetes to get a table faster or getting a handicap pass at an amusement park) to Kelly and Scott sharing their experiences of growing up in the early 80s with diabetes (oh the horrors!).

We laughed, we debated, and we took pictures!

(from the lower left-hand corner going clockwise) Betty, Emily, Kelly, Gary, Scott, me, Hannah and Matt.

After lunch, we all split up in various directions. Hannah, Kelly and I went back to her apartment in South Philly after making plans to meet Scott and Joe for dinner on South Street. We wandered around South Street for a bit, poking our heads into some of the cheap jewelry stores, killing time until Scott and Joe arrived. Around seven o’clock, we walked over to the Marrakesh, the Morrocan restaurant we were supposed to meet at. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. Kelly rang the doorbell - no answer. We stood across the street, plotting a way to break into the restaurant (I suggested climbing through the upstairs window), when we saw Scott and Joe come around the corner. Joe went up to the door and knocked. A lady opened the door.

Apparently they just didn’t like us.

Morrocan food is amazing but it was a ton of food. A seven course meal that included chicken, lamb, salad, couscous, fruit and baklava - all accompanied by their pita bread - had us eating more carbohydrates than I typically eat in an entire day! We shared more experiences growing up with diabetes. But it wasn’t all diabetes, all the time! We were also thoroughly entertained when the bellydancer came around.

Hannah and the bellydancer.

After dinner, we waddled back to Kelly’s apartment through the Italian Market. We were so bloated with food that we felt like we were pregnant. Kelly joked that we had “food babies.” When we got back to the apartment, we quickly looked up directions to the studio where Hannah’s husband was recording with his band. We hoped in our car and made our way back to Ardmore, just a couple miles away from where we had lunch and a stone’s throw from Gary’s office (we waved as we past it). As we drove through the mean streets of Ardmore, which involved us passing our turn not once, but twice, we eventually found the studio down a little driveway off a mostly unpaved road. It wasn’t exactly the easiest place to get to, but having those few extra hours with Hannah was so much fun.

Kelly and I slept in on Sunday and after a quick breakfast, we went to check out Independence Hall, which is one of the last few historical landmarks that I hadn’t been to on the East Coast. When we arrived, we stumbled upon a sign that said “NO MORE TICKETS ON SALE TODAY” and we were immediately crestfallen. I was thwarted once again. But then! A man appeared! Okay, he didn’t appear, he was the security officer and was standing there the entire time. He asked us when we were leaving. Kelly replied, “She’s leaving today.” A woman was standing next to him and said that some people didn’t show up, ripped off two tickets from her little booklet and handed them to us. It was obviously meant to be.

I left later that afternoon, quickly stopping by Bank of America and a gas station (yes, I pumped my own gas and this time I didn’t even ask for help!). Traffic was a bit nasty so I didn’t get home until nearly four hours after leaving Kelly’s, but I also stopped at one of the service stations so it wasn’t completely traffic’s fault. I was still home before eight, which meant I had time to upload all the pictures and watch Army Wives.

404 Error. Not Found.

Some of you may not have noticed, but at least two people have emailed me this week wondering where my blog ran off to.

Well, as my father would say, it was the nut holding the keyboard.

Last week, I attempted to change the nameservers and move my blog to my host. But that failed miserably (obviously, because I was the one doing it) so I had to put the nameservers back the way they were. Then I had to redo the domain forwarding. But instead of telling Godaddy.com to point lemonade-life.com at lemonlemonade.wordpress.com, I told it to point lemonade-life.com at lemonade-life.com.

Which obviously meant it was pointing at an empty webpage.

Once I figured out that’s what I did, I went back in to fix it. But instead of telling it to go lemonlemonade.wordpress.com, I wrote lemonlemonade.com. That used to be the URL for my blog back when I was still at Blogger. So that did me no good, because lemonlemonade.com doesn’t exist anymore!

Finally, I wrote it down correctly and voila, when you type in www.lemonade-life.com, it points you right here where it should.

I like to take the simplest things and see how complicated I can make them. It’s like a game.

~*~

In other completely unrelated news:

You remember Kassie Palmer? You know, this uber-awesome mom of two boys who loves baseball more than life itself (okay, maybe not, but close, right?). Anyway, she doesn’t blog as much as she used to but she did me a huge favor by agreeing to be interviewed about being a parent with type 1 diabetes for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation website. You can read her interview here. I read a lot of stuff lately about women and pregnancy - which there used to hardly be anything - but now there seems to be a dearth of resources on parenting with diabetes. Glad Kassie can fill us in.

Also, if you have a newly diagnosed college student in your life - or heck even just a regular college student with diabetes - you might want to pass this article on being diagnosed with diabetes while in college. It’s from the perspective of being diagnosed at an older age, while in college and living away from parents. However, I think it has some pretty useful advice for living with diabetes that applies to anyone in college.

Word from the Wise.

Tip #982 for Living with Diabetes:

Just because something looks the same does not mean something is the same.

Example: I took out a can of Nestea Iced Tea from the office kitchen’s fridge this morning. I glanced down at the options and grabbed what looked like the same diet iced tea that I had yesterday.

I was wrong. I grabbed a can of regular iced tea. Even when my blood sugar rang in at 320 mg/dl, I didn’t realize the mistake because I figured the high was from my decision to eat Poptarts this morning instead of my usual Fiber One bar. It wasn’t until an hour later when I tested again and landed at 336 mg/dl that I figured something was astray. Upon closer examination of the can, I realized I was drinking out of a can with 33 grams of carbohydrate! I had been working all morning, and drinking from the can without reading the words. Both the diet can I had yesterday and this can are lemon flavored, so I think that masked my ability to taste the sugar. The cans look almost identical - one has a white background, and the other has a light silver background. We have apparently purchased new cans of iced tea with a different design and that is what threw me off. Sodas are usually more obvious. Diet Pepsi is light blue, regular Pepsi is darker. Diet Dr. Pepper is white with maroon, regular Dr. Pepper with just maroon.Check out these misleading labels at Nestea’s website.

Moral of the story: Look before you leap!

The Cheesecake Mystery.

It was a time of celebration, of merriment, of festivity.
The family has gathered
For a high school graduation.

It was a time of killing time.
The location: The Cheesecake Factory, adjacent to the mall.
The time: Saturday night.
So many people, we thought.
65-85 minutes, they said.

Splitting up.
Mother napping in the car,
Brother (and the Boy of Honor) checking out video games,
The Grandmothers chatting on a bench,
The Sister trying on clothes she can’t really afford at The Limited.

Pants won’t fit,
Dress is hopeless,
But alas, two shirts!
Perfect for summer (humidity and all).

Time is almost up!
Quickly zip up jean skirt, adjust top,
Slip on the heels.
Beep! Beep! says the cash register.
With a flick of the wrist,
The receipt is signed
And off we go!

Dinner is filled with laughter and good food.
Salmon and pasta and chicken,
Slices of delicious cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory and
The biggest Chinese chicken salad you have ever seen.

Buzzzzz buzzzzz buzzzzz, goes the insulin pump
As it dumps in the contents of my reservoir.
Is there a “Select All” feature?

Hours later.

Cards have been read,
Checks have been collected,
Presents have been unwrapped.
Time for a blood sugar check.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1…
520 mg/dl
Gasp!
Shock!
Awe!

“Don’t you sometimes do two tests?” the Brother asks.
Brilliant!
Furiously scrub hands in the sink,
Seeking to remove any sneaky cheesecake molecules.
Pat hands dry and
Take Two:

524 mg/dl.
Blast!
The feeling of utter failure and confusion begin to set in.
Override insulin pump, which suggests bolusing .6 units.
Something tells me: not gonna work.

Gulp down half a can of Diet Ginger Ale.
Trudge upstairs to the bedroom.
Change into pajamas.
Move insulin pump from pocket of jean skirt to
Pocket of hoodie jacket.

Notice trail of tubing down the side of my leg.
I am unplugged.
The dressing room…
Realizations begin to unfold and
The feeling of utter confusion is replaced with
The feeling of utter stupidity.

So, this is to say,
Ladies and gentlemen,
That dressing rooms are a
Very dangerous place.

And, in case you were wondering,
Or just joining us,
I am indeed
And in fact
A PWD.
(person with diabetes, yo)

I’m Kind Of Weird…

Well, technically no one picked me to do the Ten Odd Things About Me meme, but a couple people tagged “everyone” so I’m claiming those. Here are some random things you may or may not know about me. I’m also not tagging anyone, because I’m pretty sure everyone’s been tagged by now. But if you haven’t been tagged, feel free to use me as your excuse.

1. I have some odd eating habits. I love to eat kiwis with the skins still on - I like the fuzzyness. I also like to eat the tails of cocktail shrimp. Nice and crunchy. I also have to thank The Parent Trap remake for introducing me to Oreos and peanut butter and I owe my obsession with ketchup and Ranch dressing to my best friend K.

2. I sleep with a sound machine. Between the weird noises my apartment makes and the footsteps and television blaring from the apartments around me, the only way I can fall asleep is with a sound machine to give me something to focus on. I have it set to “rain,” which is a sound I got used to falling asleep to after growing up in rain-soaked Oregon.

3. I really like popcorn. I have a bit of an unusual passion for popcorn. Movie theater popcorn, air-popped popcorn, kettle corn, low-fat. I’ll even eat stale popcorn. I’ll eat pretty much any kind of popcorn, though I’m not a huge fan of white cheddar popcorn, the kind that comes in those air-filled black bags at the check-out counter at grocery stores. You know the ones. They make me ridiculously thirsty and they make my fingers sticky. So I try to avoid it.

4. I’m five foot eight. Apparently this is tall, as I’ve had a few people remark to me how tall I am. I am also, for the record, twenty-two (almost twenty-three!) as several people have also remarked to me how I seem older. I used to think that was really cool, but I think this summer might be the summer when I stop thinking that looking older is cool and start thinking that looking older kinda sucks.

5. I hate having my knees touched. I know that posting this on the Internet is a very, very dangerous thing and I swear to God I have no qualms with kicking you in the balls and screaming if you even pretend to touch them. But this list is supposed to be about weird or unusual things about me, so there you go.

6. I named my first car Buffy. True story. When I bought my car, I thought about naming it because we had christened my dad’s car the Groovy Mobile. My dad suggested naming my car Hal, but I thought naming it after a psychopathic computer that killed the crew might be sending the wrong message. So I went with Buffy, because my mom and I both thought Sarah Michelle Gellar was adorable.

7. I’m a Trekkie. Hardcore. Conventions, dressing up as characters (I was Captain Janeway for Halloween when I was 12 years old) and I even collected autographs. I know a ridiculous amount of Star Trek trivia, bought Star Trek books and went to the opening day showing of Star Trek: First Contact, which I have seen about twenty times.

8. I don’t like shoe-shopping. I’ve never been the kind of girl that has a “thing” for shoes. I find most cute looking shoes to be terribly uncomfortable, and it’s hard to find cute shoes that don’t make me come home with red welts and tears.

9. I took French for six years. I started when I was in seventh grade and went all the way up to my senior year in high school. Despite all that, I speak French very, very poorly. Reading is not too hard, but I’m terrible at speaking. It would probably take me five minutes to pull together a simple phrase.

10. The alternate choice to “Allison” was “Kirsten.” My parents still have the list of possible names for me in my baby book. My middle name, in case anyone is wondering what the “m” in my email address stands for, is Michelle.

Playing Tour Guide.

On Saturday, I took the train into the city to meet up with Jon Schlaman, co-founder of Diabetes Talkfest. It was definitely not the great day weather-wise for a day out (and considering how sunny it was on Sunday, I’m kicking myself for not double-checking the forecast). But we managed to have quite a fun time seeing some tourist attraction and actually going on Saturday worked out because I was able to go to church - which I really liked! yay! - and I managed to get everything off my list. My bangs are cut, I worked a bit more on my freelance article, I went grocery shopping and bought my mother’s present for Mother’s Day. Very productive indeed!

Anyway, on to the recap:

We met at Penn Station and walked up through Times Square and over to Ninth Avenue to lunch. After a quick bite to eat and a long discussion about the future of Diabetes Talkfest, we walked down Seventh Avenue after deciding to try going to the top of the Empire State Building. But right as we walked past 42nd, I spotted Madame Tussauds. We decided to check it out. I wasn’t sure if spending that much money in a museum full of wax celebrities would be that much fun, but man, this is definitely going on my Things to Do When Schlepping Tourists Around NYC List! Jon took out some of his anger on Bill Gates, I modeled for Annie Leibowitz, I rocked out with the Spice Girls, we said hi to the Clintons, I got some comedy tips from Lucille Ball and even my boyfriend came!

Afterwards, we waited in the longest line in the world to go to the top of the Empire State Building. It was far too cold and we really should have skipped it (or been smart and checked the forecast), but it was still amazing to be that high up off the earth and to see so far. You could even see the lights from Giant Stadium, which is next to where I work. Sadly, my camera ran out of batteries so I have no proof that I was actually up there, so you’ll have to take my word for it.

When we were done, we headed back down and hopped on the subway to Queens where we had Thai with Scott Strumello and then walked over to his apartment where I got to meet Phyllis, his adorable cat. I also saw the most amazing contraption in the history of the world.

A personal soda machine.

It’s amazing.

I want one.

What I Love to Love.

I love driving, because despite how horrible it is for the environment and my wallet, there’s nothing more satisfying than a long drive with good tunes turned up so loud that I can sing along and I don’t even notice how bad I am. I love going to a new place, getting lost and finding out much fun you can have when you have no idea what to expect. I love flying in airplanes. I love the way pillow clouds look like castles and imagining an entire world exists in the sky.

I love the when the clouds are lit on fire by the setting sun. I love the way the Manhattan skyline looks early in the morning, just before the sun rises over the skyscrapers - the dark gray contrasting with the bright yellow. I love people-watching at restaurants, parks and on the subway. I love when people ask me for directions because it makes me feel like I belong.

I love purple. I love the scent of Oregon after it rains and the crackling of campfires. I love Portland. I love diabetes camp. I love waking up to birds chirping outside my window, because that means it’s going to be a nice day. I love Rita’s water ice, especially in mango. I love sitting in Rittenhouse Square in Philadelphia. I love movies that make you think and songs that remind you of someone.

I love blogging and bloggers and RSS Feeds. I love writing. I love doodling. I love giggling. I love meeting new people. I love people who know things that I don’t know. I love asking questions, which I suppose means I love being curious and consequently, I love being a little annoying. I love bookstores. I love Sudoku and word searches. I love sitting on the back porch of Espresso Roma of Eugene, Oregon on a warm May afternoon with a cup of coffee and a good book.

I love when my phone rings. I love Facebook and Twitter and when the little blue envelope icon lights up when I have new email. I love the ping when I have an instant message. I love sussys and hand-written letters and when my grandmother sends me a card with a $5 bill. I love comments on my blog.

I love history. I love antique stores, the smell of old books and when an eighty-year-old couple holds hands.

I love CO Bigelow’s flavored lipgloss. I love going to new restaurants. I love naan and tandoori chicken and curry. I love Trader Joe’s. I love coming home from work and watching reruns of sitcoms. I love sneaking in fast food into a movie theater. I love going to the movies by myself. I love a big bowl of popcorn. I love movie trailers. I love art galleries and amazing photographs and taking photographs that I’m proud of.

I love when the pieces of life fall perfectly into place. I love hugs. I love reunions. I love volunteering and the satisfaction of making the world a better place. I love hearing that I’ve helped someone.

I love life, and you too.

I love that there are so many things in this world worth loving.

Edit!: I spent so much time on this that I completely forgot the challenge part. I challenge you to make your own list or leave a love of yours in the comments. The only catch? You can’t include a single person you know on your list. No “I love the way my husband laughs” or “I love hearing my little girl call for me.” It’ll be tough, I know. But this particular little exercise is about stripping away everyone who defines you and figuring out what you (not his partner; not their mother/daughter/sister/friend) love. (This meme is stolen from Michelle and the City).

How My Father Met My Mother

Every couple has Their Story. The story they tell when they meet each other’s families and friends for the first time, the story they tell their children and their grandchildren, they story they whisper to each other during romantic moments

“Do you remember when…”

Every couple has Their Story of how they got together. Some stories are simple, some stories are complicated. Some stories are funny, some stories are serious. All stories are wonderful and have a happy ending.

~*~

It was October 1981. My father had moved to California after losing his job and had decided to live at his parents house while they were living in Europe. It was a few weeks before my grandparents actually left and it was the weekend of his tenth high school reunion. My grandmother brought in some of his old high school yearbooks and they were reminiscing about people he went to school with. My grandmother pointed out people she was curious about and my dad promised to let her know what they were all doing. He also recognized someone in the yearbook as someone he had been working with at his new job, but didn’t remember from high school.

The next day, my dad went to the reunion. When my dad was in high school, he was, well, kind of dorky. He was short and bit overweight, and now that he was in his late twenties, he was much taller (having had his growth spurt during his senior year in high school) and had lost weight. Having visions of having the entire high school class be amazed at his transformation, his illusions were quickly broken when most people didn’t remember how he looked at all.

After a couple hours of meandering around the reunion and meeting people, my dad was bored. A woman named Betsy happened to recognized my dad and called him over.

Betsy asked, “Hey, do you know Caren?” (This would be my mom.)

“No, should I?” my dad asked.

“Probably not,” my mom replied.

My mom was working and living as a ESL teacher in the North Monterrey area of California, in a town called Castroville (the artichoke capitol of the world, or so my dad tells me). My mom says that because it was during the school year and she was working, she almost didn’t go to the reunion. Obviously she changed her mind or there would be no story (or a me to tell it!).

My dad and my mom spent all night talking to each other. But towards the end of the night, they briefly separated (my mom thinks one of them went to get something to drink, but she couldn’t remember specifically what happened). Meanwhile, some guy came up to my mom and asked her to dance. Since my dad wasn’t around, she said yes.

And off she went.

When my dad finally came back, my mom was gone. He waited around for her, but after awhile, my dad figured he wasn’t going to see her again. Disappointed and little pissed, he decided to leave without saying good-bye.

After my mom finished dancing with the other guy, she looked around for my dad. She looked and looked, but finally someone told her that he had already left. A little annoyed, my mom left the reunion.

~*~

The next morning, my maternal grandmother asked my mom how the reunion went. My mom said that it was good and that she had met a guy, but that he had left.

“Oh well,” she said. “His loss.”

~*~

On Monday, when my dad was at work, he saw Cathy, the woman that he recognized from the yearbook.

“Hey, where were you on Saturday night?” he asked.

“Why do you want to know?” Cathy asked.

My dad explained that he recognized her from the yearbook and hadn’t seen her at the reunion. “So, who did you hang out with in high school?”

“Oh, my very best friend was Caren G—-” Cathy replied. (That would be my mom.)

My dad, surprised, said, “Huh. Guess who I hung out with for most of Saturday night?”

Cathy asked my dad if he was planning on seeing her again.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Oh go on!” she insisted. My dad was hesitant but after a little more pushing from Cathy, he finally relented.

My dad, knowing that my mom was a teacher, looked her up at the school district and gave her a call.

That Saturday, they had their first official date.

While they were on their date, my dad told her about seeing Cathy at work and how she encouraged him to call.

My mom replied, “I haven’t seen Cathy since we graduated from high school.”

~*~

They got married on April 16, 1983.

And the rest, as they say, is history…

~*~

Happy 25th Anniversary Mom and Dad!

Love,

Allison and Eric

My parents. Christmas 2007.

~*~

Weddings are certainly in the air with the impending nuptials of Gina and Kerri, but even if you aren’t married or engaged, I would love to hear how you and your significant other got together, or about your parents or friends if you’re not with anyone.

The Little Games We Play

Yesterday afternoon I hit 100 mg/dl, my first such number in recent memory. I twittered if anyone wanted to give a dollar. But no one did.

I’ve told this story before. When I was a kid, on rare (and we’re talking rare) occasion, I would test my blood sugar and land at the “perfect” 100 mg/dl. It’s just so pretty looking! I mean, in all honestly it’s not any better for my body than a 92 mg/dl or a 104 mg/dl or even a 120 mg/dl, but for some reason, that 100 is like the frickin’ Holy Grail. So my dad was joking around one day and said he’d give me a dollar. You know, 100 cents, 100 mg/dl. Get it? He’s a clever guy. And we just kept up the habit. All the way through high school, whenever I was 100 mg/dl, I would announce, “Dad, you owe me a dollar!” I tried once or twice to convince him to give me two dollars when I was 200 mg/dl, but for some reason that never worked out.

It eventually stopped when I went off to college because, well, he wasn’t exactly going to transfer over $1 into my bank account.

It was these little thing, you know, that made growing up with diabetes a bit easier. Kind of like celebrating my anniversary. And going to the bakery at the hospital with my mom after a doctor’s appointment because we had three whole months to work off whatever damage the donut did to my blood sugars.

It almost made growing up with diabetes… fun. Almost.

We Have All The Time In The World To Find A Cure For Diabetes

Did you know that diabetes is the seventh leading cause of death in the U.S.? Seventh. That’s really not that bad. Cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer’s–now those are bad. But diabetes is not exactly a disease we need to race against the clock to cure.

Every day in this country, thousands of diabetes sufferers die of this disease and its complications. Of course, the vast majority of sufferers do not. All in all, we’re only talking about 65,000 deaths per year, tops. Not 65 million, but 65,000. With the total U.S. population approaching 300 million, diabetes can hardly be called a national crisis.

There is no huge rush.

As director of the American Diabetes Foundation, I know all too well that diabetes isn’t going anywhere. So when you consider making a financial contribution to ADF, think again. That money might be better spent on a more pressing ailment. After all, why panic over a disease that’s not even in the top five? Our time and resources would certainly be better spent curing the number-one killer, heart disease, or even improving vehicle safety.

Diabetes can be serious. It can cause heart disease, high blood pressure, blindness, and kidney failure. Luckily, these complications occur in just a small percentage of diabetes sufferers. Not only that, if you’re suffering from these complications, chances are you’re probably not following the treatment plan outlined by your doctor. So is it really fair to force a team of top medical researchers to skip their summer vacations to help a bunch of people who are irresponsible about their own health?

Diabetes is a problem, but it’s a problem most of us can live with. And while it’s true that diabetes cases are rising, they’re doing so in accordance with rising levels of obesity–exactly what we thought would happen. This definitely isn’t AIDS. Diabetes is not contagious or mysterious. It’s not like we need to hold some major world conference or sew a diabetes quilt or anything.

They say slow and steady wins the race. That’s why our goal is to eradicate this semi-dread disease by 2340. Top medical professionals across the nation will be working on it, but they certainly shouldn’t feel any huge pressure. We must forge ahead in search of a cure for diabetes, but we must remember that diabetes researchers have lives and families, too.

You may not have diabetes, but, chances are, you know someone who does. Or, at least, you know someone who knows someone who does. Not that you’d ever ask around to find that out. That would be weird. But let’s just assume there’s some friend of a friend out there with diabetes. That person, assuming he or she is under the care of a qualified physician, really doesn’t need your help. As long as that person takes insulin, minds his or her health and diet, and visits the doctor regularly, he or she should be able to lead a normal life. No need to panic there.

All Americans should be aware of the serious complications of diabetes. Or at least those Americans who actually have diabetes. Luckily, clinics and hospitals already have tons of informational pamphlets and brochures that can be distributed to diabetics. So there really isn’t much to do in the awareness-raising arena, either.

As ADF director, I care a great deal about diabetes. But, keeping things in perspective, I realize that diabetes isn’t important to every person in the country. That would be selfish of me to expect others to care about diabetes as much as I do just because it’s my particular field. It certainly wouldn’t mean much to me if I were, say, an electrician. And I certainly wouldn’t like it if some electrician were constantly hassling me about wire safety or something.

At this very moment, scientists are exploring numerous possible cures for diabetes. They’re experimenting with pancreas transplants and artificial pancreases. Other researchers are attempting to cure diabetes through genetic manipulation. But that kind of cure is way off. Way, way off. Besides, if medical science ever does master genetic manipulation, we’d certainly be better off using it to eliminate something like multiple sclerosis. The important thing to remember, though, is that no matter what diabetes cure lies ahead, it can happen without your help.

Well, who knows what the future holds in store? Let’s hope it brings a cure, you know, sooner or later.

Original Article