Search
Search titles only
By:
Search titles only
By:
Home
Forums
New posts
Search forums
What's new
New posts
New profile posts
Latest activity
Members
Current visitors
New profile posts
Search profile posts
Log in
Register
Search
Search titles only
By:
Search titles only
By:
New posts
Search forums
Menu
Install the app
Install
Reply to Thread
Guest, we'd love to know what you think about the forum! Take the
Diabetes Forum Survey 2024 »
Home
Forums
Diabetes Discussion
Type 1 Diabetes
explaining what it's really like to live with Type 1
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Message
<blockquote data-quote="Grant_Vicat" data-source="post: 1774076" data-attributes="member: 388932"><p>Hi [USER=370206]@Bridie9408[/USER] I completely understand your views. I enclose the following excerpt from the book I'm holding, which shows exactly why toilets are not always foolproof and why a basic vocabulary (certainly being able to say "I am diabetic") in whatever language they speak is essential!</p><p></p><p><em>1978 I went Interrailing round Europe with Jonty Ward, a great friend from school. We stayed with some of his relatives in northwest Paris for three days and then progressed towards Florence. By the time the train had reached Novara I was not very well and we decided to leave the train and look for somewhere for me to do my injection, in relative privacy and hygiene. We found nothing useful. Later on we looked at the Michelin Guide in which the first entry stated “Novara is a grim town.” We proceeded to Milan Central. As expected, the station was enormous and we had little difficulty spotting the signs for “Gabinetti” (WC). Unfortunately these were all holes in the concrete with squatting slabs. Nothing would make me inject myself in there. We therefore crossed the street and headed towards a brand new Al Italia office. Jonty sat with the back packs against a bus stop, while I ventured inside a very plush office, hoping to spot the magic sign. They were downstairs, which meant passing the reception desk. Once downstairs I was able to wash my hands and find the first proper lavatory in Italy. Wouldn’t the Romans be proud? This meant that I had somewhere I could sit behind a locked door. Having injected myself in the thigh, the fact that somebody in heavy shoes had been constantly pacing backwards and forwards outside my cubicle suddenly took on an alarming significance, so I pretended to be in there for legitimate reasons. He tried the door handle. I sweated. After a few minutes I realised the futility of my acting and decided to brave it. A tall man in a very smart braided uniform allowed me to wash my hands and then walked slowly ahead of me towards the stairs. On the way up, he spun on his heel and curtly demanded “Documenti.” I handed him my brand new passport, which aroused suspicion. He snatched my syringe case, which was of the old type, with a double ended spirit-filled tube inside an aluminium box. He opened this and started to unscrew the tube. In the best English that flooded into my racing head, I advised “I shouldn’t do that if I were you.” Spirit sprang over his wrist and for some reason he took exception to this. He had found what he wanted and pulled me up to the reception, where two other men were seated. Their conversation reminded me of a million starlings. Eventually I uttered the only words of Italian which I knew (probably in a laughable accent) “Sono diabetico.” Blank stares. Help! Should I try French? “Je suis diabetique et en regime d’insuline.” Suddenly the smallest of the three brilliantly deduced “Ah, e diabetico.” I could have kissed him and happily shot the other two.</em></p><p><em>Congratulations on achieving 31 years. I hope modern research is greatly to your advantage.</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Grant_Vicat, post: 1774076, member: 388932"] Hi [USER=370206]@Bridie9408[/USER] I completely understand your views. I enclose the following excerpt from the book I'm holding, which shows exactly why toilets are not always foolproof and why a basic vocabulary (certainly being able to say "I am diabetic") in whatever language they speak is essential! [I]1978 I went Interrailing round Europe with Jonty Ward, a great friend from school. We stayed with some of his relatives in northwest Paris for three days and then progressed towards Florence. By the time the train had reached Novara I was not very well and we decided to leave the train and look for somewhere for me to do my injection, in relative privacy and hygiene. We found nothing useful. Later on we looked at the Michelin Guide in which the first entry stated “Novara is a grim town.” We proceeded to Milan Central. As expected, the station was enormous and we had little difficulty spotting the signs for “Gabinetti” (WC). Unfortunately these were all holes in the concrete with squatting slabs. Nothing would make me inject myself in there. We therefore crossed the street and headed towards a brand new Al Italia office. Jonty sat with the back packs against a bus stop, while I ventured inside a very plush office, hoping to spot the magic sign. They were downstairs, which meant passing the reception desk. Once downstairs I was able to wash my hands and find the first proper lavatory in Italy. Wouldn’t the Romans be proud? This meant that I had somewhere I could sit behind a locked door. Having injected myself in the thigh, the fact that somebody in heavy shoes had been constantly pacing backwards and forwards outside my cubicle suddenly took on an alarming significance, so I pretended to be in there for legitimate reasons. He tried the door handle. I sweated. After a few minutes I realised the futility of my acting and decided to brave it. A tall man in a very smart braided uniform allowed me to wash my hands and then walked slowly ahead of me towards the stairs. On the way up, he spun on his heel and curtly demanded “Documenti.” I handed him my brand new passport, which aroused suspicion. He snatched my syringe case, which was of the old type, with a double ended spirit-filled tube inside an aluminium box. He opened this and started to unscrew the tube. In the best English that flooded into my racing head, I advised “I shouldn’t do that if I were you.” Spirit sprang over his wrist and for some reason he took exception to this. He had found what he wanted and pulled me up to the reception, where two other men were seated. Their conversation reminded me of a million starlings. Eventually I uttered the only words of Italian which I knew (probably in a laughable accent) “Sono diabetico.” Blank stares. Help! Should I try French? “Je suis diabetique et en regime d’insuline.” Suddenly the smallest of the three brilliantly deduced “Ah, e diabetico.” I could have kissed him and happily shot the other two. Congratulations on achieving 31 years. I hope modern research is greatly to your advantage.[/I] [/QUOTE]
Verification
Post Reply
Home
Forums
Diabetes Discussion
Type 1 Diabetes
explaining what it's really like to live with Type 1
Top
Bottom
Find support, ask questions and share your experiences. Ad free.
Join the community »
This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this site, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.
Accept
Learn More.…