Such it is with ramen noodles. Most Americans know ramen through the cheap little packets that sustain so many college students between pizzas. Ramen soup (BETTER ramen soup) can also be consumed at the noodle restaurants many cities have. But, increasingly, there's a middle path. Packaged ramen costing $1 to $2 a pack can be purchased at Asian markets, and some companies making Asian foods for American consumers are producing similarly-priced offerings found in some supermarkets.

I've eaten a lot of cheap ramen. Before my diagnosis, I often had a pack or two as a meal. I didn't eat it as a soup, though: I'd cook it, drain it, add butter and part of the seasoning packet and eat it like pasta. For several years, I've rarely had it: it just hasn't seemed like a good idea to get back into that.

Lately, though, I've been getting back into it, although in different ways. Ramen soup is a nice quick meatless meal (although meat can certainly be added), and I have discovered that a ramen soup supper is pretty easy on the rumbly on my tumbly. Plus, it's quick – I can get home, put the water on the stove, and decide exactly what I'm doing while it comes to a boil.

So, after a lifetime of the cheap packets, I've been exploring some of these mid-priced brands. I began by visiting my local Asian market armed with this list (which, you will notice, has PICTURES) and wandered up and down the aisles looking for listed brands – I actually found several. A local supermarket had some other options.

Thus far, I have to say that while I like the flavorings better in the mid-priced options, and the texture of the noodles is better, I'm not sure the difference is worth the additional trouble for me in getting them – especially since I'm inclined to add stuff to my soup anyway.

So what can be added? All sorts of spices, seasonings, and condiments can be added. Precooked or quick-cooking vegetables can be added – scallions are a good option, and I like frozen peas. Precooked meat can be added, if you like. Many people like to stir an egg in right before adding the seasoning packet. Think of it like a sandwich - this is not a time for a recipe, this is a time for figuring out what you like.

Updated to correct a botched hyperlink.

Since this topic is a "rerun", perhaps it's forgivable that I have written about my dream device before. My dream device would provide ongoing tracking of not only blood glucose but many other things – blood pressure, body temperature, sleep patterns, white blood cell count, hydration – anything that can reasonably be measured and have any impact on our health in the present moment.

But my "super monitor" is only half of it. All this data would be fed into a computer to be added to information like food, body weight, and assessments of emotional state that the monitor couldn't measure. Maybe even weather data could be added. All of this data would be crunched by an algorithm that would look for patterns we're not able to observe for ourselves. Just what is the effect of a short night on our blood pressure? Is that higher weight this morning due to carrying more water? Is our mood really bluer on cloudy days, and does a light box help? It may even be that some of the inexplicable things that insulin users experience might be explained with more data. Did that night of persistent highs also see an elevation in white cell count that might indicate an illness or infection that doesn't yet have symptoms?

Though I'm no scientist, I believe that more complete information. It just has to be, I feel, that when we don't understand what's going on, it's because we don't have a full enough picture of what IS going on. Maybe not always. But sometimes would help.

I would not trade chronic diseases with anyone. I once heard a story - I don't know how wide-spread it is - about "the trouble pile". It concerns a man who felt deeply burdened by his problems. He hears about a place called "the trouble pile" where you can exchange your sack of problems for another sack that somebody else has left. This sounds like a great plan to him, but when he gets to the pile and comes to understand the things others deal with, he ultimately decides to keep his own. There is kind of a Pollyanna feel to that story, but it nicely expresses how I feel about the notion of trading conditions with someone else.

Has diabetes affected how treat folks with other conditions? Yes. Almost any PWD can regale you with stories about the stupid things the people around them have said or done in regards to their diabetes. One of my most central ethics is "Don't be a jerk", so I don't want to be the guy other people tell eye-rolling stories about.

To illustrate, let me tell you about a way in which I've failed to not be a jerk. Sometimes, when things get especially hairy at work, I've thought something like "this is giving me a migraine" or even "this is giving me a cluster migraine". I've probably said that aloud, perhaps even in the presence of some who actually does experience migraines. But I don't experience migraines, which are real, deeply painful, and life-impacting. I know at least one person in the DOC whose primary advocacy seems to be in regard to migraine.

Explain to me, if you will, how my casual jokes about migraines are very different from jokes about getting diabetes from eating too much. You can't, can you? Neither can I, and I was pretty uncomfortable when I put this together in my mind recently. I've been a jerk in this respect, and I'm going to stop.

But there are a lot of conditions, and most of us can't know much about many of them. So, we can't rely on knowledge to save us from jerkiness. We must I instead focus on treating people with respect, try to be aware of how much we don't know (and that much of what we think we do know may be wrong), and never ever suggest to someone with another condition that we know what they should be doing about it.

After all, it's hard to ever really understand what's in the other person's sack of troubles.

My diabetes service animal would be:

A pug. A magical pug.

See, for now, my meds do a pretty good job of keeping my sugars in some fashion of semi-reasonable, so a high/low alert animal would have to take up a hobby. But the real battleground for me has to do with food and exercise.

How would a pug help?

Well, I've never met a pug. I only know them from pictures. And I've seen plenty of pictures, because they often star in the silly captioned pictures I enjoy so much (see this dog as an example). And from the pictures, I know that pugs are really super good at looking sad, even betrayed, as if they had just found out what you REALLY had the vet do.

Here's how it would work.

ME: Yum, this is one delicious-looking double cheeseburger.

(The magical pug appears and looks terribly sad.)

ME: But...

(The magical pug cocks its head to one side and looks even sadder.)

ME: You....think I should give it to you?

(The magical pug cocks its head to the other side.)

ME: All -right-! HERE!

(The magical pug, looking less sad, scarfs the burger and disappears.)

See?

And my magical pug would help with exercise, too:

ME: Man, this has been a day. I...am...beat!

(The magical pug appears, looking sad, and holding a leash in its mouth.)

ME: But I'm too tired for walkies!

(The magical pug looks betrayed, while doing a little dance that suggests that I will soon be cleaning magical wee-wee out of my non-magical carpet.)

ME: (deeeeeep sigh) Okay. You win. Like always. Let's go.

(I don't know how real pugs are to walk with. But magical pugs maintain a good pace and don't need to sniff something every five feet.)

With my magical pug, I'd lose five pounds a week!

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A short open letter to my fellow diabetes bloggers and advocates:

I don't want to describe what put this in my heart, but I want to say this:

You're doing enough.

Time, energy, focus, money, emotional fortitude, courage, and even compassion are limited resources, and we all have different amounts of each. Millions of people count themselves as having full lives just from paying the rent, keeping themselves fed, and not leaving the house looking and smelling like a garbage scow. They're not even caring for a chronic disease, let alone doing advocacy for it.

Relax. I'm doing enough, you're doing enough. We read enough, we write enough, we speak out enough, we support each other enough. Let's try to feel good about what we do in this arena.  Diabetes itself is tough: we don't need to give ourselves grief over what we can't do. You're awesome.

Your friend,

Bob

Many of you (beyond those that were there!) will have heard about Simonpalooza, a truly epic series of meetups around the tour our friend Simon from Australia made of the United States. I am fortunate enough to live in one of the tour stops, and it was a great event.

But my greatest diabetes day* was actually the evening before Simonpalooza itself. My friend Jess and her husband Josh were kind enough to host a gathering for the folks that had come in already. (Jess, I can't possibly have thanked you enough for this. Thank you.)  It was there that I first met a number of folks ** that I'd come to admire online, "re-uned" with a number of folks that I'd met before, and met several people I hadn't really known online but quickly became important to me. Even more than the people, though, was the fact that I felt comfortable -- something that often doesn't happen for me in social situations. These folks knew some of the things about me that I'm least proud of, and liked me anyway. I listened, I laughed, I hugged, I cracked wise, and I sent a tweet that was a veritable rabbit hole of meta-ness. It was such a good time. No, it was an awesome time.

* Greatest in a tie. There were two other days I seriously considered describing for this post.

** I don't dare name names, because I'd be sure to leave people out, and that would be bad.

I don't doubt that other responses to this post will address many of the important issues that impact that lives and health of millions of people with diabetes. I, on the other hand, have chosen a different issue. This issue is important not because of global significance but because it irritates me.

TO: The manufacturers and distributors of non-regulatory medical equipment:

We, the undersigned (or, more probably, -I- the undersigned) wish to bring the following issue to your attention:

Yeah, I know: it's the big boys -- the outfits listed on the stock exchange that need FDA approval to order paper clips -- that are under most of the pressure to step up their game in what they produce for people with diabetes. But I have a bone to pick with you smaller outfits too.

Why can't you make a better pill sorter?

Most of the features I want are available in one sorter or another: a mechanism to keep compartments from opening accidentally in a briefcase, nice rounded bottoms to the compartments so that pills can be removed cleanly, compartment lid hinges that aren't traps for the smaller pills, and the ability to last more than a couple of months before the hinges start getting wonky. But you can't seem to sell me one with all of these things.

But there's something else, a feature I haven't yet seen.

Friends, materials scientists have been studying plastics for generations now. They have developed varieties usable for everything from doggie bags to car bodies.

Why can't you make sorters out of a material that doesn't hold onto gel tabs with the tenacity of a sports agent to a 6'10" high school junior who can't miss a jump shot?

Okay, that might be a SLIGHT exaggeration. But c'mon!

With respect and urgency,

Bob Pedersen

For example, I don't like telling people that I know how they feel - because I don't. Even if I've had experiences that were very similar to what my friend is experiencing, I saw them through a personality and personal history that's different from my friend - my emotions may well differ (at least somewhat) - from where she is. So, I may try to establish the "you're not alone" connection with something like "I remember when that happened to me" or "I've been in a similar situation".

I am also uncomfortable with telling people that the situation will work out, because sometimes it doesn't work out. Though I believe that things work out ultimately, that doesn't mean that there aren't some nasty punches to the back of the head before we get to 'ultimately'. I try to listen, and I try to sympathize, and I provide comfort if I can, but I'm not going to pretend I have a crystal ball.

One thing that really does bother me, and I really think people should usually avoid saying, is some variation on "it could be worse". Yes, we can often find comfort in reflecting on all the problems we DON'T have. But, when we suggest that to someone else, we run a huge risk of dismissing the validity of our friend's feelings. My friend George wrote an excellent response a number of years ago to the people telling him he should be grateful he doesn't have cancer. To me, we should reserve the "it could be worse" message for only those we're really close to, and only after we've heard them out. Otherwise, in my view, it's a pretty serious put-down.

Overthinking though it may be, I think my thoughts on this are valid, at least for myself. The bad part is sometimes not knowing how to respond at all.