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[IP] Yet another newspaper article re Miss "A"
Subj: Columnist from Palm Beach Post re: Miss. Amer.
Date: 9/24/98 5:04:50 PM Eastern Daylight Time
TEST MY BLOOD, EAT, SMILE: I FEEL LIKE MISS AMERICA
By Emily J. Minor
Normally, I would not give her a second glance because she's one of
those. A beauty queen, and I think when you're talking about women who
wear heels with their bathing suits it's fair to be unfair and
It's fair to assume that all Miss Americas get up at 5 a.m. every day to
pluck eyebrows, line eyes, color lips and curl eyelashes, and that
includes Bess Myerson.
But this year's Miss America pulled a fast one on me.
There she was in my morning newspaper the other day. Miss Nicole Johnson
from Roanoke, Va.
"Miss America speaks up for diabetes," the headline read, and she was
smiling, lips lined of course, and holding up the little contraption.
The one called an insulin pump.
The one just like mine.
She and I wear one 24 hours a day, seven days a week. We take it off to
shower and swim, and I'm assuming she took hers off for the swimsuit
competition, but other than that, the little thing is our constant
friend. It gives us the medicine we need to stay alive, morning, noon
Consequently, Miss Nicole Johnson has done a couple of things. First
off, I feel guilty for being so judgmental. And second off, all of a
sudden, I like Miss America.
I love Miss America. In fact, I am thinking of quitting my job and going
on the road with her, her, her, even if she is a Bible-thumping,
Pat-Robertson-lovin' Christian coalition gal who thinks Clinton should
So there she is, my new soul mate, touring the country doing important
life's work. Suddenly, she's so deep and meaningful.
Disease can do that to two strangers, draw them together. The failings
of the body suddenly present you with challenges that only a few can
understand, those few being the very people whose bodies have failed
them in similar fashion.
And while I will probably never understand this Miss America's politics,
while I will probably never understand why she'd choose to climb up on a
runway, I do understand her challenges and fears. I do understand her
life, hour by hour, minute by minute.
Miss America gets up in the morning and tests her blood sugar first
thing. She might have a little coffee and maybe some toast and then
she'll test again. And wherever she goes, she's sporting that little
pump that's about the size of a beeper. It's attached to her by a long
cord. And inside that cord is her insulin. Her medicine. Her lifeline.
Yes, Miss America is pretty darn swell.
She's more than lined lips and plucked eyebrows. She's sore fingers,
scabby and tender from so much pricking and testing. There she is eating
meals when she's not even hungry. And suddenly I'm worried about the
little dear. All that traveling, all that stress, all that excitement.
How in heaven's name is she going to keep her blood sugars under
control? How in heaven's name is she going to hold up?
She'll do it, one minute at a time. Test, eat, prick, smile. Just like
I, and millions of other diabetic Americans, make it through each day,
every day, day after day.
In fact, here I go. Test. Eat. Prick. Smile.
Who'd have ever thought that having diabetes could make me feel like
Insulin-Pumpers website http://www.bizsystems.com/Diabetes/