Those medication commercials make diseases look fun!

Dancing Towards Diabetes: My Quest for a Glamorous Disease

Medication commercials.

Sigh.

Not the ones that depict someone curled up in bed, looking genuinely miserable, before a helpful narrator chimes in. Oh no, I’m talking about the ones that have apparently mistaken themselves for auditions for a Broadway musical, or perhaps a particularly energetic cruise ship entertainment gig.

Every single time I settle down to watch a little TV, without fail, a commercial pops up that makes me question everything I thought I knew about suffering. It starts innocently enough: a person looking vaguely uncomfortable, maybe clutching their stomach or gazing sadly at a bowl of bland oatmeal. Then – POOF! – they take a tiny pill, and suddenly, they’re not just feeling better; they’re feeling fabulous.

I’m talking about a full-on transformation. One minute, she’s got a moderate-to-severe case of whatever-it-is that makes her tummy rumble, the next she’s in a sundress, twirling through a sun-dappled meadow with the unbridled joy of a small child who’s just discovered ice cream. And then, as if to truly hammer home the point that her chronic condition has now blessed her with the life of a Disney princess, she’ll break into a spontaneous, perfectly choreographed dance number with a diverse group of similarly symptom-free individuals.

Seriously, is this a pharmaceutical ad or an audition for So You Think You Can Contract Chronic Illness? Because based on these commercials, having a moderate-to-severe case of [insert vaguely described ailment here] isn’t a debilitating struggle; it’s a golden ticket to a vibrant social life filled with picnics, dog walking and synchronized clapping — not to mention the likelihood of anal bleeding, suicidal thoughts and depression.

I’ve seen people with rheumatoid arthritis suddenly doing interpretive dance that would make a professional ballerina sweat. I’ve witnessed folks with irritable bowel syndrome laughing giddily while playing frisbee in a park, their guts apparently perfectly aligned with the universe. I even saw one commercial where a guy with diabetes was doing parkour. Parkour! My man, I thought diabetes was about monitoring blood sugar, not defying gravity.

And don’t even get me started on the singing. Often, it’s a soft, lilting, almost gospel-like melody about “finding freedom” or “living your best life,” all while someone with glorious, flowing hair skips through a field of wildflowers. Lately, it’s a catchy pop song whose chorus or hook has you humming it for the next three hours. I half expect them to hit a high note and spontaneously grow wings. The sheer, unadulterated glee radiating from these people who are supposedly managing a serious health condition is baffling. It’s so over-the-top, so perfectly lit, so utterly devoid of any grim reality, that I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been doing “healthy” all wrong.

Here’s my confession, and it might sound truly deranged: I almost want to contract one of these glamorous illnesses. Think about it. My current life? It involves a lot of sleeping in, going to the gym, drinks by the pool. Never have I enjoyed a spontaneous flash mob in the park.

But if I had, say, a persistent cough that required a specific medication, suddenly I’d be able to laugh heartily with my friends while canoeing, effortlessly scaling a rock wall, and probably even learn to play the ukulele. It looks like a blast! I want to have diabetes now, not because I want constant blood sugar monitoring, but because those diabetics in the commercials are always having such a fantastic time. They’re running marathons, painting masterpieces and just generally radiating an unrealistic level of zest. Sign me up for that kind of chronic illness, please!

The disconnect is truly wild. We, the viewers, know that these conditions are not fun. They’re serious. They involve pain, discomfort, doctor’s visits, dietary restrictions and a whole lot of not-dancing-in-a-meadow. (Don’t get me started on the costs of meds and lack of Americans with proper insurance. Hello, Canada!) Yet, the pharmaceutical industry seems to be operating under the assumption that the best way to sell a drug is to convince us that the illness it treats is actually a pathway to an impossibly blissful existence. Are they trying to show that diseases aren’t serious? Because they are. They really, really are.

It makes me wonder if somewhere in a marketing boardroom, a genius executive pitched, “You know what sells medication for debilitating diseases? Interpretive dance and perfectly coiffed hair! And make sure they’re always laughing, even when listing the side effects that include rectal bleeding and sudden death!” Because yes, even the dreaded rapid-fire side-effect list is often delivered with the same cheerful, upbeat tone, as the now-cured individual continues to play frisbee with their golden retriever. (Or the narrator’s voice speeds up to breeze through everything — but I assume that’s because there’s so much to list in a short amount of time.)

So, to the marketing masterminds behind these medication mini-musicals: I get it. You want to show hope. You want to show that life can be better with your product. But can we maybe dial back the full-blown Broadway production? Can we perhaps acknowledge that managing a chronic illness is less about spontaneously breaking into song and more about, you know, actually managing it? Because while the idea of my future diabetes diagnosis leading to me joining a vibrant, dancing community is oddly appealing, I suspect the reality involves far fewer meadows and significantly more careful carbohydrate counting. And frankly, my dance moves are nowhere near commercial-ready. Unless the disease also comes with a professional choreographer. Now that might be a side effect worth contracting.