lingua franca: a common language by which communication can be conducted between parties who speak different native tongues.
lingua franca diabetica: the commmon language (jargon) by which people with diabetes and their care teams communicate about diabetes, life with diabetes, and diabetes management
We've all seen it; we all know it. The furtive glance at what looks like a pager or cellphone with one weird-looking flexible antenna. The precariously-balanced meter as one tries to check one's blood glucose levels while walking down a street. The meter case or insulin case lying beside flatware at the dinner table. A mother on a bus, subway, or park bench manipulating a child's hands under cover of a windbreaker, then carefully counting out smarties for him to eat. Someone wordlessly handing a partner or friend an unrequested glass of orange juice. Someone else checking the carbohydrate count on a container of yogurt.
These are as broad a set of signals to us as a friendly wave "hi" or "bye", or some version of a secret-society handshake. They are our counterpart to religious medallions, "gang colors", and "distinctive dress". They identify us, and the strangers beside us, as people with diabetes.
Oftentimes we recognize the gestures and nod with a knowing smile. Sometimes -- if the occasion seems right -- we may start up a casual conversation -- or if our own gestures are recognized, respond to someone else's nod or comment. While diabetes is an a bit more controversial a discussion topic than the weather, sometimes that odd entrée is the invitation to a "brush of Fate" that allows us to help others. We might educate, connect, or sometimes provide more substantial assistance. Where we have been brings us to where we are, and where we are is that confluence of place and time in which our knowledge and experience exist to serve the Divine Purpose. We may never know the names of those people whose lives we touch, nor how deeply we've influenced them, but we know that we "were meant" to have been there, Guided by whatever Name we give to the Divine Presence. We leave enriched by the casual, or not-so-casual, contact.
Yet, the gestures of diabetes are similar to those of other conditions. Some people use portable intravenous treatments for Lyme disease or cancer. That injection may have something to do with an organ transplant or AIDS. That child could be cold or hungry or sick with something other than diabetes, rather than running high or low blood glucose. The orange juice might simply be to cool off and rehydrate. To what degree does one -- should one -- second-guess one's first impression? To what degree are our interpretations of these signs and gestures colored by our own experiences of life with diabetes?
We've all been in situations where we've needed help -- where we've wished someone would read our minds and step in to assist us -- and we've all been in situations where we've wished that the well-meaning friend, neighbor, or fellow passenger would just butt out and let us alone. The trick is in trying to figure out when to look, observe, and ignore -- and when to step in. I don't always make the best call. I don't always make the "right" call. I don't have a way of telling whether I should act, or whether I should hold my peace. I can only pray that my conscience, and the Divine Presence, will guide me to act appropriately when my actions are needed -- to help, rather than to hinder -- to bring light and learning, life and health, opportunity and friendship, rather than darkness and uncertainty. As St. Francis prayed, "L-rd, make me an instrument of Thy Peace..."
In the end, that might be the most important gesture of all.
