“Frank, when you first got diabetes, what were the symptoms?” Mum asked me on the weekend. 

Of course, Mum knows the symptoms of diabetes well enough. But I knew exactly why she was asking. I was actually thinking the exact same thing myself.

“The weight loss was the very first thing, but that was a few weeks before I was diagnosed. I didn’t even notice that until the very end. Then I started to feel a lack of energy, and the thirst, a few days before. Eventually I couldn’t even get out of bed.”

“Were you eating?” (if you want to get Mum worried, just tell her you don’t feel like eating!)

“Yeah I was, up until a couple of days before.”

My sister hasn’t been feeling well. It seems like a bit of a virus that’s been lingering around over this past week or two. 

Of course, I know the symptoms of diabetes all too well. I still remember my own, as though they happened only yesterday. I was certain that this was nothing to worry about. But I could still feel the knots in my stomach, turning. I was anxious, and I could feel myself begin to tremble as we were talking it through. 

That instinct was still there. That instinct of diabetes symptoms will always be there.

I hate this disease. I hate how time consuming it is, I hate how much I have to think about it, and I hate how I feel because of it. There’s only one thing I can think of that would be worse than having diabetes itself. That would be having to see any of the people that I love live with it.

In this very moment, as I am writing this, I realise exactly how all the courageous diabetes parents and families in the world feel.

I realise exactly how my own loved ones feel. When they hear the prick of a lancing device. When they hear the clicks of my insulin pen. When they see me shoving sugar down my throat. When they hear noise coming from my room at 2am in the morning. 

I’m not ashamed of my diabetes.

Diabetes hasn’t held me back from doing anything.

I don’t spend my time worrying about diabetes.

But knowing that my loved ones have to see me live with this disease day in and day out, is far worse than having diabetes itself.

In my day job, people talk to me. People talk to me a lot.

I guess you could call me the middle man between the people in my workplace and our Union. People often come to me with their issues, questions or concerns. It could be anything from working hours, to classification of duties and pay, or to general conduct in the workplace. I can provide some guidance, go and find additional information, or connect them to someone within the Union.

It’s not exactly a paid job. There are a few perks. Like free lunches. Coffees. Conferences held in fancy venues. Goodie bags, and the occasional freebies. However for the most part, I’m simply an employee taking an active interest in the welfare of my workplace.

All the time, I am asked what exactly it is that I do in this role. And most of the time, my answer is simple.

I’m a good listener.

It’s about being able to listen to someone in the staff room who needs to get something off their chest. It’s about going up to someone and asking them if they are all right. It’s about being knowledgeable and helpful for the inquisitive people (myself included) who like to ask a lot of questions.

Sometimes the concerns are genuine ones, and I will be able to help them out. Other times, I can simply offer them my time. I can offer them my undivided attention. I can try to be as helpful as possible. I can keep these matters in the strictest of confidence. I can also respect that every concern being raised is important to the person asking.

Some healthcare professionals could certainly take a leaf out of my book.

Sometimes I’ve been made to feel like a worry-wort when bringing up issues that might seem insignificant. Sometimes I feel like an absolute idiot when a big concern that I’ve worked up in my head is absolutely nothing. Sometimes those feelings of relief are overshadowed by feelings of guilt for wasting a busy professional’s time. Other times I simply don’t feel that anything helpful has come from a consultation.

However, I don’t know any better. I am simply the patient, with the best of intentions towards my health at heart. It often takes a great deal of courage to raise an issue with one of my healthcare professionals. As a person with diabetes, this could mean accepting that I am ill. This could mean sharing sensitive information about my diabetes management. This could mean confirming a devastating diabetes complication. This could mean setting off a wave of guilty feelings and what-ifs.

I need undivided attention from my healthcare professionals. I need to be treated like the most important person in the room. I need to be shown empathy when I am talking. I need support and helpfulness during consultations. I need to be commended for coming in, and for taking my health as seriously as I possibly can.

I need motivation from my healthcare professionals to keep taking my health seriously, because my diabetes isn’t likely to go away anytime soon.

Being a good listener is a good start.