I used to work with a woman, we will call her Joanne. Joanne would get visibly grossed out every time I stabbed myself with a needle at lunch break. She’d flinch. Gasp. Make little gagging sounds like I was extracting an organ instead of just keeping myself alive. “Could you maybe do that somewhere else?” she’d…

Let’s talk about islet cell transplants, shall we? Basically, it’s when doctors take insulin-producing islet cells (those sweet little pancreatic overachievers we Type 1s no longer have) and transplant them into a diabetic person — often into the liver — with the goal of producing insulin naturally again. Like, on their own. No pump. No pods.  Sounds…