LITTWIN: Dear Jay, a few encouraging words from an old hand at finger sticks

By Mike Littwin, Rocky Mountain News (Contact)

Friday, May 16, 2008

Dear Jay,

I know I should have written sooner. But when I saw the news you'd been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, I was on the road somewhere, covering the endless presidential campaign.

In fact, I think at the moment I heard I was at an Indianapolis White Castle - eating lunch, yes, but also dealing with the nation's great issues, like whether Barack Obama was or was not wearing a flag pin that day. You can see why I didn't have time to worry about whether you were wearing an insulin pump.

Just so you know, I, too, have Type 1 diabetes. And I wanted you to know that, whatever you're feeling, it could be worse.

For instance, I'm also wearing a pump, which, I don't have to tell you, is a great advance in diabetes treatment and which, for the fashion conscious, now comes in your choice of four rakish colors. For those reading along who may not know, the pump, worn at the belt, looking not unlike a BlackBerry, fires measured shots of insulin into your body. This not only allows you to process carbohydrates, but - if you're lucky enough that your insurance company pays - it also means you no longer have to shoot up like a street-corner junkie crouched in a doorway, which, it turns out, is not always a good look.

On the downside, you do have to reconnect the pump to your body every three days or so by firing a major needle into your abdomen or your leg or your butt.

Still, medical science marches on. Soon, you'll be hooked up to even more high-tech gadgetry. I've got something called a continuous glucose monitor, which measures my blood sugar every five minutes and sends the information to my pump, which displays a 24-hour graph. It's like a video game. And I just got in the mail a wireless meter, which still requires that I stick my finger - just like B.B King does! - maybe four to six time a day, but down from eight to 10.

If it sounds like I'm a bionic man, that's because I am, except without the, uh, super powers. Fortunately, you don't need super powers. You're an NFL quarterback. What you need is, I don't know, maybe some receivers who are less accident prone and a new offensive line.

But I digress.

The whole thing is scary, but there has never been a better time to have diabetes. Pumps are getting smarter every day. Insulin acts faster. And, as for sticking your fingers, in the old days, you had to, uh, pee on a stick to measure your blood sugar - and that's not always convenient when calling plays in front of 80,000 fans.

Which isn't to say that having diabetes isn't a pain. People always ask the difference between Type 1 and Type 2 diabetes when, hint, they could just go to WebMD. The easy answer is, in Type 1, which is usually diagnosed in children, your body doesn't make insulin anymore. In Type 2, now epidemic, your body has trouble processing insulin, and it can usually be controlled with exercise and diet.

Friendly columnists, meanwhile, offer advice on how to be a role model when you're still trying to digest the notion that your life will never be the same again. That spontaneity is mostly out. That pizza, which takes about 12 hours to digest, is mostly out. That beers with the boys is tricky when doing "diabetes math" - and getting it wrong is dangerous. Let's see: 90 carbs, at 7 carbs per unit of insulin, equals . . . you try to do the math, sober. That, with all the rules, you need a playbook even when you're not on the field.

The good news is, you get used to it. You remind yourself that everyone gets something, much of it worse. You see other athletes handling it just fine - and that you'll be fine, too. And we may see a cure, particularly when the next president eases up on embryonic stem cells.

I have only one piece of advice, which is to have a story ready when somebody asks. I've been dining out on my how-I-discovered-I-had-diabetes story for years.

I was on vacation when I realized I was, well, too thin for my bathing suit. I'd lost maybe 15 pounds. I didn't call the doctor, though. I called my insurance agent.

Check the logic here. I was 45 (too old, by the way, for Type 1, but go figure). I knew I'd never lost 15 pounds even when trying - and I wasn't trying.

So, yes, I called my insurance agent - and doubled my coverage. This would mean that if I had contracted a fatal disease - and I figured it had to be fatal - I could honestly say I didn't know about it before upping my insurance. I'd die a hero. My family would be taken care of - and I'd be remembered as the kind, selfless person that I always told everyone I was.

And so, I came home from vacation and went to the doctor, who, after a few tests, told me I had diabetes. I was stunned.

The good news was, I would live.

And the bad news, I'm still making those insurance payments.

littwinm@RockyMountainNews.com

• May 18, 2008

  6:33 a.m.

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  malis writes:

  Thanks Squatch...comment certainly well above your usual standards of thoughtfulness, keen insight, wit, and sophistication.

• May 18, 2008

  7:17 a.m.

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  DiabetesAdvocacy writes:

  Thank you. As a parent of a child with Type 1 diabetes its always refreshing to read a column that shows the reality of this disease. Your diagnosis story is great and I am glad you didn't have to use that insurance policy. Sadly not everyone is so lucky. In the very young and the adult population a diagnosis is often missed and this can lead to deadly consequences. Your light but real approach is fabulous and to be commended! By the way, use that pump and eat pizza on occasion. A nice combination bolus with an increased carb to insulin ratio can often work to battle those "evil" foods and allow you a nice treat now and again.
  www.diabetesadvocacy.com

• May 19, 2008

  9:43 a.m.

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  Vandala writes:

  Come on, where are the usual dirty, stinking hippy references pointed Litwin's way all the time? Most of you lugheads don't mind tearing into this guy everytime he says something where are you now????

• May 19, 2008

  2:31 p.m.

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  me2 writes:

  Vandala, wasn`t big-foot-in-mouth ( SASQ) enough for one day?