Happy World Diabetes Day everyone. I would have gotten you all a card, but my local Hallmark had none left.

It's fitting for us that diabetes awareness and World Diabetes Day falls in November - the month of Charlie's diagnosis.

We worry about Charlie every day. We worry about his present and we worry about his future. We worry when he's out of our sight and we worry when he's sitting on our laps. We worry that he'll be the last one picked. We worry about him feeling alone. Being alone. Asleep, awake, happy, sad, silly, angry - we worry. (READ MORE)

When I was in grade school, regardless of whether our Trick-or-Treat costumes were home-made or store-bought, whether we wore masks or make-up, our huge paper loot bags were accompanied by small orange milk cartons stamped with information from UNICEF -- The United Nations Children's Fund. Printed on the cartons were examples of what a small donation might do for a child in a third-world country -- a nickel, for example, might provide a child with a pencil and notebook for school; a dollar might vaccinate him against smallpox or polio; five dollars could get his town clean water. The following school day, our teachers would collect the milk containers. The local PTA would count up the money and submit the school's UNICEF donation for that year.

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One of the issues that many of my Type 1 compatriots are often confronted with is the idea that "juvenile diabetes" is restricted to, well, juveniles. That once you turn 18 -- or 21, in some jurisdictions -- your diabetes automatically transmogrifies into Type 2 and you can be cured by exercising three hours a day, losing 10 pounds, and avoiding any food that isn't pure protein. And maybe, taking a cinnamon pill, a bitter melon pill, or whatever the herbal cure du jour might be.

As we all know, that popular myth has about as much truth to it as, umm, the belief that Princess Anastasia is still alive and well and living in the same body she had in 1917. Let me rephrase. The probability that Rasputin is alive and well and living in the same body he had in 1917. (READ MORE)