Here's the poem I referred to in another posting about cringe-worthy things that people say to T1D:
Does It Hurt?
No, it doesn't hurt. The needle slips beneath the skin--
no nerves there. It's not a sliver, refusing tweezer's grip.
Growing pale, they note my insulin
being drawn; I am asked, "Does it hurt?"
This slender spine, centered on its plastic plunger?
It's not a twisted bramble wrestling skin for mercy.
Praising me for courage in doing what I must; they will ask,
"Does it hurt?" No, I inject barely enough to fill
a hummingbird's beak. It's not a bee sting swelling, but holy
to my muscled bones. I snap the cap on my syringe, listening
to exhales of thick relief. I tell you Zane, my kindergarten friend,
newly diagnosed last week, when you hear then ask, "Does it hurt?"
Just tell them, "Yes."
this poem appeared with an article on diabetes research in Northern Ohio Review, 2003.