As (Not) Seen on T.V.--Why I Care About Representation

I was diagnosed with Type I Diabetes when I was ten.  I have lived well with diabetes.  I have not “suffered” from diabetes. I have, however, suffered from diabetes’ portrayal in the media.

It’s well known that entertainment—novels, television, and movies--is fiction, and therefore it is not surprising that the media seldom get diabetes right. But in failing to get it right, the media present a wrong and damaging view of diabetes.

In short, if one understands life through the lens of “as seen on t.v.” (or on Netflix, Hulu, or in that old-fashioned technology, books): Diabetics are convenient plot devices.  They have no interior life. They are manipulative, deviant criminals. They are guilty of eating too much chocolate, a “bad” food (that’s another post for another day). They fall unconscious or go ballistic at random times. They are gluttons who ask to be murdered. They have life-saving devices that serve as life-ending weapons. 

These add up.

They add up for a public who learns from what they see—no matter how inaccurate.

They add up for young diabetic men and women who need to feel empowered and not "enfreaked," a term that disability scholars use to describe how bodies that are perceived as different are marginalized, stigmatized, and ultimately dehumanized in individual and collective portrayals of their (perceived) difference (Lipenga).

They add up for the diabetics who need to learn self-acceptance and not self-loathing.

I was the enfreaked, self-loathing diabetic. I did not realize this for a very long time.

Now that I am (working on) being empowered and self-accepting, and have young friends and students with diabetes, I can see how desperately they need to see diabetes represented right.

Let me expand on what I've said above and offer some examples of (and scornful commentary on) how various forms of media present diabetes. These are admittedly older examples, but they are ones that shaped me--either because I internalized their messages without realizing it, or, as I grew as a scholar and, um, in maturity, they helped me see the patterns that now fuel my ire.

In the first episode of Blue Bloods, a young girl is kidnapped. Of course she is Type I.  Of course she will die if she does not get insulin. Of course Donny Wahlberg’s character tells the EMTs (after he water-boards the suspect, in a toilet, to find out her location) that she needs “insulin right away,” as if they’ll just randomly draw up some insulin without taking her blood sugar first.

In a Law and Order: SVU episode, an emotionally and intellectually delayed little boy is kidnapped. He is also diabetic.  Of course his insulin pump is almost out of insulin. 

In CSI, the charming brothel owner Lady Heather is in the hospital talking to Grissom and fades off into unconsciousness.  Grissom says, “She’s diabetic and I think she’s in shock.” 

Hmm.  Shock, as in, she hasn’t eaten and has too much insulin in her system? Shock, as in, she hasn’t taken insulin and therefore has a very high blood sugar? Or shock, as in it sounds good—and it worked so well in Steel Magnolias.

(To be fair, Julia Robert’s character, Shelby, divides the diabetes community.  I—watching first her overwrought low blood sugar, and then, later, seeing the character die of kidney failure—found it traumatizing and embarrassing).

Then there are the food-related diabetic representations. In a book I read over 20 years ago, and have not been able to find since, a diabetic girl eats a whole box of chocolate and then makes herself throw it up.  She hasn’t had chocolate in years.  YEARS. Although I recognize that diabetic bodies are different, and have different dietary needs, I disliked that plot because it enforced a "can't" mentality that is generally false. Oh, yeah, and it involved purging and guilt--the first is a practice that a lot of diabetics struggle with, since body image is HUGE; the second we have plenty of as it is. In short, I can't get behind this book's messaging.

That plot, refreshingly, did not entail attempted murder or murder.  In Christopher Pike’s  book Remember Me—a teen horror book I read as a teen—a deranged woman injects her diabetic boyfriend with too much insulin and makes sure to add some air bubbles for good measure.  Luckily, ghost sister is able to dive into the needle and break up the air bubble.  But not before she tells us about the time that he landed in the hospital because he had eaten too many Christmas cookies. 

Those cookies are just a flashback, but in a CSI: New York episode, the murder weapon is the allegedly off-limits food.  It’s Valentine’s day, and our victim finds a beautiful box of chocolates awaiting his indulgence. He gorges. He dies. Poison (not chocolate) kills.

One I remember from a book called Glucose: a man is murdered because someone injects insulin into his eye. Yummy. Let me tell you, that book (which I read in high school) creeped me out and did nothing to help my self-image. And then the other, similar but not quite as gross: a man is nearly murdered because someone swaps his insulin with sugar water.  At least that was kind of interesting, and did not (if I recall) somehow blame him for his death.

Then there are the diabetic criminals.  As a recall it, in a Law and Order: SVU episode, a depraved, manipulative woman who is diabetic gets out of her murder trial by doing a huge injection of insulin, which results in a seizure. She’s also faking the need to use a wheelchair, so that episode really did a lot for disability as a whole.

Now for some good news. Not all representations of diabetes are like this.  Ann M. Martin’s Babysitters Club series accurately featured a diabetic character named Stacey. It was that character who was my role model. I knew what diabetes was and what it was like before I had it, and I am thankful that Martin did her homework.  The series has been updated and adapted into graphic novels for a new generation of readers, which is fabulous.

Vivian Sherfranzen's Sugar isn’t Everything was the best representation of diabetes I encountered as a teen—possibly because it was written by a diabetic.  The character’s diabetes is a surprise, but she adjusts and adapts, and so does her family. 

More recently (as in...the last 15 years?) Body of Proof featured a fairly accurate representation of diabetes when the main character’s daughter, Lacey, is diagnosed. She—oh modern young woman—gets an insulin pump.

I’m aware that there are new, different portrayals of diabetes that are more accurate and empowering, just as there are recent representations of other disabilities that emphasize characters with disabilities rather than disabled characters as convenient, disposable vehicles for stories.

CODA, a film about a close but economically struggling Deaf mom, dad, and son--and their hearing daughter--is an excellent example. It deservedly received critical attention, and several Oscar nominations. The point of the 2021 Oscar's should not have been the slap heard 'round the world. It should have been the powerful acceptance speeches by CODA actor Troy Kotsur and West Side Story actor Ariana DeBose. Together, they highlight why it is important for the media to represent people of all identities and backgrounds authentically and as whole people.

My point is this: Plot is powerful. Although I don’t always recall titles, I remember each of the above storylines. I have not researched these as example. They (especially the negative ones) are seared into my memory, imparting lessons through their portrayals of people with diabetes.

Even the attention that the slap heard 'round the world plays into this plot--it says that the actor I will not name ranks more highly for his five seconds of anger than two actors who worked for every role they got in an often ableist, racist, sexist industry that elevates ease over talent or justice and then deprives those who succeed of recognition.

Representation matters. As a contestant states in the trailer for Lizzo's Watch Out for the Big Grrrlls: "Its hard to love yourself in a world that doesn't love you back."

Poor representation of disabilities, religion, class, ethnicity, and other identity categories also does a disservice to those who have not directly encountered various forms of difference. A person can only reason from what they know. If they are unintentionally steeped in stereotypes and inaccurate representations of, for example, people with diabetes--remember, the media suggests that diabetics are sniveling, helpless individuals or murderers--they have no reason to want, or try, to engage meaningfully with a diabetic person. If a person with a disability is a plot device, then why would anyone think to view them as people worthy of engaging or getting to know?

Which returns us to the quote from Watch Out for the Big Grrrlls. As a 10-year old, or an 18-year old, or as a young professional-- why would I as a diabetic think I was a person worth engaging or getting to know?

If you (dear reader) found this remotely interesting, I encourage you to:

• Check out the podcast Writing Excuses. It has been exploring these very issues in its 17th season. The panelists are all writers, and they weigh in as people with disabilities who also read about and write about disabilities. The link will take you to the full season--have fun exploring the different episodes.
• Leave me a comment--what is your favorite (or least favorite) representation of disability in the media? Why? Alternately, help me build a more uplifting list of diabetes in the media. What are some good representations of diabetics in the media? Who can diabetics claim as their role models?