We all like to pretend we’re on top on things. On the surface we’re all well put together, uber cool human beings, but it’s like we’re treading water; underneath the surface the legs and arms are frantically flapping around to keep us afloat. I have no problem admitting that this is me. I like to be busy; stimulated and entertained, and as such I have a tendency to say “yes” to everything without really thinking it through, and deal with the juggling (and the consequences) later. And all I have to worry about is work, clothes, boys and such. How I’ll manage when I have actual real responsibilities like a family and a mortgage… well, it’s not like I’m in danger of having to worry about either of those any time soon, and that’s probably for the better!
Having diabetes is just another ball to juggle, whether us type 1’s (and 2’s, no doubt) like it or not. And between the minefield of units, carbohydrates, hypos and HbA1cs, it can get a little confusing. I’m pretty certain previous posts have already demonstrated that sometimes things just don’t go quite to plan. Add blonde and scatty to the mix and you’ve got weekly episodes of JennyEnders waiting to happen (I feel that you lot perhaps read this to make yourselves feel better, in the way that at least you know you’re not quite as much of a donut as me? Yes? Hey, we aim to please…)
I was recently approached to blog about a new diabetes product. Now, super SUPER DUPER flattered as I am that ANYONE out there considers my words worthy of use in promoting a product that’s invariably taken a lot of time, money and serious expertise from very important and influential people to develop, I didn’t ever start this blog with the intention of doing so. These ramblings were supposed to be about my very personal experiences trying to be a diabetes supremo without compromising my ridiculous, borderline tragic existence (FYI I don’t think it’s possible, but it’s fun trying. God loves a tryer. There may be space for me in diabetes heaven yet).
That said, when I started to take a look at this product, I bloody love it. I really, really do. It’s perfect for people like me who have a tendency to be a bit of a numpty sometimes (read: a lot of the time) because it sets out to improve your diabetes life WITHOUT having to do anything different whatsoever. I’ve been down south over two months now and I’ve only just got my GP moved, in order to avoid “adventures” like this. And even if you’re not a numpty like me, I’d dare say this is a pretty nifty bit of kit for us injection types. (Yes, that word was indeed nifty). I feel that pumpers have been stealing the limelight for a while with all their advancements, so it’s nice to see something for us lot back in the diabetes dark ages.
So what the hell is it?? Well my friends, let me unveil to you (trumpets, fanfare, toot toot) Timesulin.
It’s a nifty (there it is again) little cap that replaces the normal cap on your injection. It’s got a timer screen on it, telling you how long it’s been since your last injection, a la here:
Well, I here you cry, surely it’s pretty obvious the last time you stuck a bit fat needle in your body?!
In a word, no.
I do four injections a day, at least. I’ve had diabetes since I was eight. I’m now the ripe old age of 24, and currently the injections aren’t going anywhere. So that’s 16 YEARS of four x daily shoot ups. That’s right, 4 x 365 x 16. 23,360 injections so far and counting. Say I live to 70 odd, that’s knocking on for 100,000 squirts. (More horrifying than that, it seems I’ve lived a quarter of my diabetic life!! I think I need a lie down!)
So it’s fair to say that sometimes one injection will merge into another. I do it ALL the time, mostly because I’m not strict about when exactly I take my insulin in relation to my meal. If I’m downstairs and making food, I’ll eat and then go straight upstairs for the dose. If I’m upstairs and head off to make dinner, I’ll take the insulin first. Similarly, if I’m out with a group of people, I’ll whack it in when I can. You get the idea, it’s the casual approach to effective drug taking. When it happens, it’s exactly like when you walk into a room and you can’t remember what you came in for. You have to retrace your thought processes to figure it out. Sometimes I’ve had to ask my friends whether I just whipped out a needle in front of them. This mostly occurs after a night out, at which point the memory loss could also be put down to a sorry yet amusing state of inebriation. Either way, second party guidance is needed.
Timesulin is planning to be that buddy, without the quizzical “have you lost your mind?” look. Many people confuse themselves to the point where they either double dose or completely forget their insulin altogether. Either way you soon know about it, but by then the damage has been done. Growing up at home, before every meal my mum would ask the inevitable, predictable question: “Have you had your jab?” before she gave me my dinner. I used to roll my eyes, something akin to Kevin the Teenager (Confused? Kevin and Perry: Google it), and reply with a sarcastic “yesss”. Now she’s not around all the time to ask, the answer is not so obvious.
Timesulin’s been developed by a Type 1 type, which again in my eyes adds brownie points. Not some corporate bod who has no clue but is trying to talk the talk anyway, Apprentice style, but a man with know-how who just happens to be in a position to do this, and help us all out a bit. He knows his Novorapid from his Glargine, and he ain’t afraid to use them.
And these guys have done their homework. You can take the cap off and check you’ve got enough insulin for the day without resetting the timer, as it only automatically resets after it’s been taken off the pen for eight seconds. NIFTY NIFTYNESS!!!
I’m not going to go into the ins and outs, but give the website a looksie and it’ll help you out I’m sure. I don’t want to sound like an advert, but the episodes documented in this blog thus far give more than enough evidence for me to determine that I need all the help I can get, and I actually think this is a really good idea. One of those relatively simple, “why didn’t I think of that?” jobbies. Me like.