aiming for grace

medical design can be fresh.

This is the dentist's office, KU64, in Berlin. Not exactly what comes to mind when I think of dentist, medicine, clinic, or doctor's office. And though this isn't my favorite design look per se, I do love the fact that someone is really thinking and designing medical places in a different way. Designed by the firm, graft, this place reminds me that there is energy around thoughtful design for the medical world out there. I want a cure, but in the meantime, I want the best medical experience I can possibly have while I'm waiting. And that includes aesthetic experience too.

carrying it all.

Diabetics are a resourceful bunch. We figure out how to make all the stuff we have to do to be healthy diabetics, work within our busy lives. Like how to carry all our diabetes paraphenalia about. Kevin wrote a wonderful post about his love for his L.L. Bean rucksack and kindly called out my love for sassy bags in the process. Much thanks to him for the link as well as confirmation that I'm not the only one enamored with the little (and somewhat obscure) details of diabetes accessories.

And P.S., I've been thinking about getting a backpack and after reading Kevin's post, I'm becoming more convinced of the merits of this idea by the minute. If I do get one, I'm leaning towards this little beauty from EastPak, who's pattern is designed by one of my favorite print designers, Hanna Werning. Who says practical can't also be sassy, for those of who want that too?

good design = feeling better.

Thanks to my friend Alex for this interesting link that speaks to the connection between good design and healing at hospitals. I may be a bit of a loudmouth about it, but at least this confirms I'm not alone in having a strong opinion about how much good design is missing in the medical world.

make it special.

In the ongoing spirit of making the best of the lack of design choices we have as consumers, I'm all about the aftermarket concept applied to the world of diabetes. Again, the options afforded us by the manufacturers of the pump in particular, are slim to say the least. I'm just not inclined to go with them on that aesthetic journey. Imagine, on the other hand, being able to choose a hand-crafted case for the pump like the beauty from cadrian bell, made for a nano, pictured above. I'd definitely be happier when I'm in a meeting or presentation and my shirt inevitably rides up above my waistband, exposing the lovely surgical tubing and pretty "pager-like" pump I so love. It's not exactly the fashion look I'm aiming for overall.

So I think I'll give them a call and see if they're up for making me one for my pump. Nothing to loose right? I'll keep you posted to see what I find out.

my sassy friend.

Imagine my joy when I saw my wonderful friends totally sassy bloodtest machine bag solution. I've spent 20 years in a wasteland of black nylon bag options being offered up by the world. So I've had to get creative (and admittedly kind of snotty) about looking for fun solutions to the not so fun reality of all the diabetes stuff I have to carry around. But no more, thanks to my friend! At long last, there is someone to share my love of sassy alternative diabetes packaging, and best of all, be inspired by her brilliant solutions! So cute, so practical, so very sassy. And I have to say that the "used strip container" option is a real stroke of genius. I LOVE it. She mentioned that she liked the ritual of filling it up (taking care of herself) and emptying it out (noticing it). I totally get that. It's another great example of making it real.

the cost of knowing more.

I've been having a lot of lows at night lately and I'm thinking the sensor would be great at a time like this. I'd love to know more of what goes on with my bloodsugars throughout the day and especially at night. The night bloodsugars have always been the hardest for me to control consistantly. I hate the ongoing unknowns of my changing insulin needs. The dosage I'm on has worked for months. It doesn't seem to be anymore. Time to experiment to figure it out, yet again. Not fun.

Yet I also hate the idea of more technology attached to me, more to have to deal with, to buy. And that's the conundrum.

In the spirit of at least knowing more about what my choices are I've started to do some research. I've looked at the dexcom, and wasn't exactly thrilled with their set up at this point. For now, the having to carry around a receiver the size of a tv remote coupled with the less than perfect software, are deal breakers for me. More stuff to deal with, a clumsy system to manuever, a new company that isn't an industry leader. Hm.

So I checked into the medtronics paradim real time, which is designed to work in conjunction with my medtronics pump. It makes sense to me to go with the company I know, the industry leader, the one who has the most incentive to make it work with the pump I already have. So I called up the customer service line and waited over 25 minutes to talk with someone in person. Waited, waited, waited. When I finally did get a live person, they turned out to be very helpful and friendly. We went on the website together and walked through their sensor program and what it would entail for me to get one: an upgrade of my existing pump ($399), a starter kit ($999) that would include 1 battery (that would last between 6 and 9 months and then have to be replaced for $900, because it's not rechargable) and 1 months worth of sensors (at $35 a pop, to be used up to 6 days at a time), all for the grand total of $1298 just to get started.

Gulp.

Once upgraded, if I were to use it all the time, the sensors would cost around $350 a month and the battery, around $900 every 6-9 months, this time adding up to a grand total of about $5K a year, out of pocket, not covered by insurance.

Gulp again.

She assured me that the price would probably come down in the future because the batteries are being hand made, not manufactured, at this point in time. She also said that I wouldn't have to wear the sensor all the time if I didn't want to. Maybe once every couple of weeks for a few days, calibrate my pump accordingly and then check back a few weeks later. Or use it at times like now, when I don't exactly know what's going on. Or when I'm traveling (though I can just imagine the joy of having to explain a battery cell taped onto my body as I try to make it through security). The point is, that I could reduce some of the costs if I didn't wear the thing every day, week in and week out. Sounds good to me on all counts. Less "being attached" to more technology, less money too.

Beyond the obvious financial challenges that this scenario poses, I am still a bit unsure of the whole proposition in general. It still feels like a big tradeoff: all this money, the addition of another thing stuck in me, plus a big ass battery taped to my body, all to get a better idea about what's happening at night. Don't get me wrong. All things being equal, of course I want more information. That goes without saying. But are the costs to get that information worth it? The financial costs, the physical invasiveness, the added complication of more technology to live with. Is the promised benefit enough incentive to overcome my reservations and reticence? Do I wait for the next iteration of the technology that might be more streamlined and affordable? Or do I just take the leap and figure it out as I go? No easy answers here. At least not yet.

Gulp.

pictures of medicine.

I spent nine hours in the emergency room a few days ago. Lot's of time sitting there, staring at the ceiling between tests. I was not actually feeling totally terrible during most of the visit, which was kind of weird since I was, after all, in the emergency room. But there we were, so my husband and I took some pictures while we waited. Hey, it was better than trying to read the one, ancient Family Circle magazine left in the room.

I'm fascinated with the language of design and place, and what it all communicates. Unlike my critique of all the stuff we have to interface with as diabetics, the emergency room is obviously ALL about medicine and the business of crisis and triage. This is a place where lives are saved and the people who work there are absolutely amazing. (I truly don't know how they do it. And with such kindness, concern and grace)

What can be very interesting, is what a collective image can say about the specific. The sum of the parts communicate something different than each individual picture. So I've started a clinic flickr set, including some of the photo's from last Saturday, to capture some of the "collective medical" world that I see and interact with. Just another way to make it real, by letting the many singular images collect to become one whole.

sassy where I can be.

Ok, in the spirit of having some fun with the products we need to keep us healthy and happy people with diabetes, I'm trying a new widget (aren't you impressed with how tech savvy I am) that typepad has been promoting these past few weeks. It's called stylehive and basically, it's a way to collect links to products you really like, put them in a "place" that allows others to review (with the links to the sites of those products featured). I'm not selling anything. It's just kind of like I have a favorites page of things and links I really like. That's it. Could be fun. Could be dull as dishwater.

And it fits into a bigger scheme of mine, of course. In all my talk about my issues around design and human interface and diabetes, I realize that I am focusing a lot on the design that doesn't work. And though a lot doesn't work, some stuff does, so I'm going to call that stuff out and celebrate it. I've also been talking about how much I dislike all the products I use screaming "medical" or "sick". Well I can't really affect the design of my pump or meter or test strips much from where I sit (beyond my continued, respectful, nudging posts). What I can affect is the aftermarket stuff: all the products I need to put all my diabetes stuff in, all the logs and journals I collect my data in, all the things I can choose to surround all the products I don't have any choice over.

It's in this spirit, that I am going to launch my little favorite diabetes stylehive products link. I'm going to have fun where I can because goodness knows, the design of most of the stuff we deal with, just ain't that fun. So I'm going to be sassy where I can. Shop on.

what are you telling me?

At the end of the day, we want and expect all the diabetes products we use to work. We are blessed with the fact that there are people out there who make that happen. They design pumps to deliver insulin 24 hours a day, customized to each persons particular body rhythms. They engineer recombinant dna insulin to make the insulin we take the same genetic makeup of human produced insulin. They design implantable sensors that read our bloodsugar's every 5 minutes so that we can see the way they are trending, thereby allowing us to make more accurate decisions than ever before. Our lives are significantly better because of the way these scientists and engineers see the world and the work that they do.

But there is something missing between the amazing work they do and me, the patient, the user, the consumer. These products are designed to make my life better, more livable day to day, more "normal" if you will. They are designed to help me keep my diabetes under the best control possible to avoid longterm complications, but right up there with that goal, is the idea that diabetes should not "limit" my ability to live a full life. A healthy life. It's possible right? That's what the doctors and nurses and literature all say and yet, when I look at all the diabetes products I use every day, I feel like I'm being told something very different. When I look at the way the pump sets and test strips and the glucose monitors and the needles and the alcohol swabs are designed, packaged and graphically communicated, I feel like I'm being told that I am sick. Use all this MEDICAL stuff designed for sick people, and you can live a healthy, normal life. Everything I touch and encounter around diabetes says clearly, loudly, that I'm sick.

And of course I am, in the sense that I have a chronic illness, and especially if I don't take care of myself. Unlike other diseases, I can manage my disease best if I thoroughly integrate it into my life, normalize it, and accept it. Imagine how much easier that would be if all my touchpoints around my care weren't screaming at me that I was sick. Imagine if the packaging was more normal or special or even reverent. Apple is a perfect example of what I mean. Everything, and I mean everything, is considered. Every touchpoint, every package, brochure, website, service. Every time I encounter the brand, I'm reminded that they care. They know that everything they make communicates something about their brand, their desired relationship with me as a consumer, and quite frankly, how much they value me. Whether it's true or not, their aesthetic, packaging and attention to detail, communicates that they value and respect me as a consumer. Enough to sweat the design details. Because the details really matter. Apple shows that the job isn't done when the amazing technology is complete. They show that there is a lot that can be considered and designed between the technology and the people.

So my question to all the companies that make all the diabetes products I use, what are you telling me? Whether you mean it or not, you are communicating something. Are you saying I'm a sick person who needs to be communicated to like a medical patient? Or are you saying I am I a healthy and fully whole person who happens to be living with diabetes? I would offer up that depending which answer is chosen, the design brief for all the wonderful stuff the scientists and engineers have made to make life with diabetes better, would be very different.

And, PS. Of all the companies doing diabetes medical design, I really do like Novolog's look. Simple, streamlined, modern, adult and not pandering. It still feels medical but at least it's groovy medical. My 2 cents, for what it's worth.

making it real.

I'm a designer by profession, and as such, I'm a big believer in the power of things. Objects communicate, tell stories, collect meaning. A tangible thing in your hand feels real and substantial. Having said that, the web is also an amazing tool for meaningful communication, connection and comfort. The OC has changed my life in such a positive way. Regardless of being a virtual tool, the insight, inspiration, comfort, support and realization that I am not alone with diabetes has utterly improved my life.

For me, the exercise I did a couple of months ago to commemorate my 20th anniversary of living with diabetes, was very important. I don't think it would have had as much meaning if I had just done it privately on my own. 20 things I know about diabetes, really helped me to move through a milestone in a way that surprised and comforted me deeply. The format, the simplicity and the "safety" of doing the exercise as a blog within a community of people who have been so supportive and also, "get it", made the doing of it possible. Once done, I felt better. But the designer in me wanted something to touch and hold and feel, so I decided to make a small book out of the blog. I had the original files I used to make the posts, printed them out (with the help of a friend more experienced in book layout and production than I) and then took it to a local book bindery to have 10 copies made. They arrived a couple of days ago and I'm so excited. There is something so cool about being able to hold the exercise, done on the web, in my hands. I'm giving them to my doctor, family and the friends who have made the most difference in my journey with diabetes. And that feels great too, to give them something tangible as a thank you for all that they have done for me.

I think that making something tangible from all of this stuff we deal with around diabetes, can be very helpful. In reading the comments on Scott's recent post operating under pressure, there was a comment by Minnesota Nice that I thought was brilliant. She is writing down every positive thing she does around diabetes, and for each "thing" she takes a lego block and adds it to a structure of lego's she is building. By doing this, she sees her progress, she notes her efforts and success', she makes her work and dedication tangible. I think this is fabulous. Once she goes through all the lego's she has, she takes a picture of the creation, and then starts again. Boy would I love to see those pictures (sounds like a wonderful book to me)! Brilliant!

The point is, making something real out of all this can be very good (#7 diabetes is a great source for creativity). A blog is real but you can't touch it. It may be enough and that's terrific. Taking it further into another form, can be fun too. Whether it's publishing an iPhoto book of images that mean something around diabetes, or publishing your blog using a program like blog binders, or painting a painting or building lego towers, it really doesn't matter what form it takes. It can be affordable, creative and personal, shared or not. I'm just saying that making my 20 things blog into a tangible, touchable book, has made it that much more meaningful to me and others.