Susan Richardson Facebook ad: “Read this if you feel like you’re failing”

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62 to 51. That's what my HbA1c did in four months. No new medication. No extreme diet. No gruelling exercise programme I couldn't stick to anyway. My practice nurse requested a retest because she thought the lab had made a mistake. The retest came back 50. Even lower. After eleven years of my HbA1c being stuck — eleven years of doing everything right and watching the number refuse to move — it finally dropped. Here's what changed. My name is Susan. I'm 59 years old. Worked at the Post Office in Burnley for twenty-six years until they closed the branch. Type 2 diabetic for eleven years. Eleven years of doing everything they told me. Eleven years of nothing working. Metformin from the start. Then Gliclazide when the Metformin "wasn't enough." Then Alogliptin added on top because my HbA1c kept creeping up no matter what I did. Three tablets every morning. And my numbers were still stuck in the 60s. The diets? I've tried them all. Slimming World — went for eighteen months, lost a stone, gained it back plus four pounds when I stopped going. Weight Watchers twice — same story both times. The Blood Sugar Diet that was all over the news — I lasted three weeks before I was so dizzy I couldn't drive. The 5:2 diet that left me so hungry I couldn't sleep. I even tried those meal replacement shakes my daughter bought me. Forty quid a week for chocolate powder that tasted like cardboard. Lost five pounds in a month. Gained seven back the moment I started eating real food again. Nothing worked. Nothing stuck. My fasting glucose would dip when I started something new. I'd get excited. Tell my husband "this is the one." Then three weeks later, the numbers would creep back up. 8.5. 8.9. 9.2. Back to where I started, or worse. The weight was the same. Lose half a stone, gain it back. Lose four pounds, gain five. My wardrobe had clothes in three different sizes because I never knew which body I'd wake up with. Eleven years of this. 4,015 mornings of pricking my finger and bracing for disappointment. 4,015 days of feeling like I was failing a test I didn't know how to pass. My husband said I was too hard on myself. "You're doing everything right," he'd say. But the HbA1c doesn't care about effort. It just tells you the truth. And the truth was that my body wasn't listening to anything I did. The worst part? I used to be on my feet all day. Twenty-six years at the Post Office. Standing behind that counter. Sorting packages. Walking back and forth to the van. Never sitting down for more than ten minutes. Now I was the woman who couldn't make it round Asda without needing the trolley to lean on. Who had to sit down halfway through cooking tea. Who said no to my grandson's football matches because I couldn't stand on the touchline for an hour. At my last review, the practice nurse told me I needed to "be more active." I nearly laughed in her face. Be more active? My feet burned with neuropathy every evening. My knees ached from carrying an extra three and a half stone. I was so tired by mid-afternoon that making dinner felt like climbing a mountain. "Move more" isn't advice. It's an insult when your body has already given up. Here's what nobody told me for eleven years: It's not about what you eat. It's not about how hard you try. It's about what your body DOES with the glucose in your blood. And when you're diabetic, that process is broken. Let me explain it properly, because no one ever did — not my GP, not the practice nurse, not the diabetes course I sat through five years ago: When you eat, glucose enters your blood. Your pancreas releases insulin. Insulin is supposed to unlock your cells and let glucose in, where it gets used for energy. But with Type 2 diabetes, your cells have stopped responding to insulin. They've become resistant. Glucose builds up in your blood with nowhere to go. Your pancreas sees the high blood sugar and panics. It pumps out MORE insulin, trying harder to force the glucose into cells that won't open. So now you've got high blood sugar AND high insulin flooding your system. And here's the part that made me want to scream: High insulin tells your body to STORE FAT. Not burn it. Store it. When insulin is constantly elevated, your body is in storage mode. Every calorie it can hold onto, it will. Every bit of fat it can keep, it keeps. You could eat 1,000 calories a day and still gain weight. Your body will store as much as possible and burn as little as it can. This is why diabetics can't lose weight. This is why the diets don't work. This is why I spent eleven years feeling like a fraud — doing everything right and still being treated like I must be lying. It's not willpower. It's not greed. It's not laziness. It's chemistry. Broken chemistry. That was the first thing I understood. The second thing was discovering what actually fixes it. I was up at 1am — again — scrolling through a diabetes forum on my phone because the neuropathy was keeping me awake. I found a comment buried in a thread about HbA1c. A woman mentioned her husband had tried something called NMES. Said his HbA1c had dropped 8 points. Said his practice nurse had accused him of lying about his diet because the improvement was "impossible" without medication changes. I'd never heard of NMES. I assumed it was nonsense. Another gimmick. Another thing that would take my money and deliver nothing. But I couldn't sleep anyway, so I kept reading. NMES stands for Neuromuscular Electrical Stimulation. It makes your muscles contract using gentle electrical pulses. The NHS uses it for stroke rehabilitation and physio — nothing new, nothing experimental. What I didn't know — what changed everything — is what happens when muscles contract. Your muscles are your body's biggest glucose sponge. When they contract, they pull glucose straight out of your blood. And here's the crucial part: They do it WITHOUT needing insulin. There's a pathway called GLUT4 that activates when muscles contract. It opens a back door into your cells — one that doesn't require insulin. Glucose goes straight in. This is why exercise helps diabetics. Not because of calories burned. Because every muscle contraction pulls sugar out of your blood, bypassing the insulin that isn't working. But here's the problem: When you're exhausted, when your feet burn, when your knees are shot, when you're carrying three and a half stone — exercise isn't realistic. And the less we move, the less our muscles contract, the less glucose gets absorbed, the higher our blood sugar stays, the more insulin gets pumped out, the more fat we store, the more exhausted we become. It's a trap. A vicious circle. And willpower cannot break it. NMES breaks it. It makes your muscles contract FOR you. Same glucose absorption. Same metabolic benefit. But you're sitting on your sofa. I was sceptical. Of course I was. I've wasted hundreds over the years on rubbish that didn't work. Cinnamon tablets. Chromium supplements. Berberine capsules. Apple cider vinegar gummies. All gathering dust in the kitchen cupboard. But the research was real. Published studies showing NMES reduced fasting glucose and HbA1c in Type 2 diabetics. Clinical trials with actual data. And there was a 90-day money-back guarantee. If it didn't work, I'd get my £70 back. I've wasted more than that on meal replacement shakes. I ordered it that night. It arrived on the Friday. That evening, I sat in my usual spot on the sofa, put my feet on the mat, and pressed start. Fifteen minutes of gentle pulses. I could feel my calf muscles twitching, contracting, releasing. Not painful. Not even uncomfortable. Like a very mild version of walking without any of the knee pain. I checked my blood sugar before and after. Before: 9.7 mmol/L After: 8.1 mmol/L A 1.6 point drop. From sitting on my sofa watching Coronation Street. I assumed it was a fluke. Saturday evening, same routine. Before: 9.4 mmol/L After: 7.8 mmol/L Another 1.6 points. I started keeping a diary. Old habits from years of Post Office paperwork. I needed evidence. Day 1: Fasting glucose 9.5 Day 4: Fasting glucose 9.0 Day 7: Fasting glucose 8.5 Day 10: Fasting glucose 8.1 By week two, my fasting numbers were lower than they'd been in two years. Same food. Same tablets. Same everything — except fifteen minutes on this mat, twice a day. Day 16 was the moment. I woke up, reached for my glucose monitor, pricked my finger, waited. 7.6. I said "bloody hell" out loud. My husband thought something was wrong. Tested again. 7.5. Under 8. For the first time in three years. I sat there staring at the number. After eleven years of nothing working, something was actually working. I cried later. In the bathroom where my husband couldn't see. Not sad tears. Relief tears. Eleven years of feeling like a failure, and finally — finally — my body was cooperating. Week four, my clothes started fitting differently. Not dramatically loose. But the jeans that had been cutting into my waist — they weren't anymore. The top I'd stopped wearing — I tried it on and it fitted. I'd lost six pounds. Without dieting. Still having my toast. Still having a biscuit with my brew. Still eating normal dinners. Then I remembered — lower glucose means less insulin. Less insulin means your body stops storing everything as fat. The weight that wouldn't budge for eleven years was finally shifting. Week seven, the energy came back. The afternoon crash — that 3pm slump where I'd need to sit down and close my eyes — it was fading. Some days it didn't come at all. My husband noticed before I did. "You're different," he said one evening. "Different how?" "You hoovered the whole house without stopping. And you suggested going to see our Michelle at the weekend. You never suggest things anymore." He was right. I'd started saying yes again. The exhaustion that had been crushing me for years was lifting. We went to see our daughter. I played with my grandson in the garden. Actually played — not just watched from a chair. Four months in, I had my diabetes review. The practice nurse pulled up my results. Stopped typing. Stared at the screen. "Your HbA1c is 51. It was 62 last time." She scrolled back through my history. 59. 61. 64. 62. All stuck in the same range for years. Then suddenly — 51. "This must be a lab error," she said. "I'm going to request a retest." "It's not an error," I said. "What medication have they changed?" "Nothing. Same tablets I've been on for four years." "Then what have you done?" I told her about the NMES device. About muscle contractions and glucose uptake. About the research I'd found at 1am when I couldn't sleep. She looked at me like I'd told her I'd found a magic bean. "I'll make a note," she said. "But that drop is... unusual." Unusual. Eleven points off my HbA1c was "unusual." I didn't care if she believed me. The numbers believed me. My body believed me. My clothes believed me. Two weeks later, the retest came back: 50. Even lower. She didn't request a third. The company that makes this doesn't do flashy advertising. I found them through that forum thread, like most people seem to. Word of mouth. People sharing what actually worked. They've got a 90-day guarantee. Use it for four months. If it doesn't work, send it back. I respect that. After wasting hundreds on supplements and programmes that delivered nothing, a guarantee matters. Here's where I am now, seven months in: HbA1c: 50 at last check. Down from 62. Lowest it's been since two years after diagnosis. Fasting glucose: Between 7.0 and 7.6 most mornings. Down from 9.5+ consistently. Weight: Down a stone and two pounds. Same food. No gym. Just my body finally working. Energy: Better than it's been in years. I'm doing things again. Saying yes again. Afternoon crashes: Gone. Neuropathy: Still there but less intense. The burning isn't as bad. Medication: Practice nurse is "considering" reducing my tablets. First time that conversation has ever happened. My husband says I'm like the woman he married. "You've got your spark back," he said last week. I didn't know I'd lost it. When you fade slowly, you don't notice. You just get used to having less energy, less life. I've shared my story in a few diabetes groups online. The messages have been overwhelming. One woman had been Type 2 for nineteen years. HbA1c stuck at 64. Four different medications. Her consultant had started talking about insulin. Ten weeks with this device. Her HbA1c dropped to 54. Insulin conversation stopped. "I thought I was beyond help," she wrote. "My body wasn't beyond help. It just needed something I wasn't giving it." A man messaged me who'd gained three stone since diagnosis despite eating less than his wife. His GP kept implying he was "underreporting" his food. He wasn't. He was tracking every bite. Eight weeks using this. Down a stone. Fasting glucose from 10.2 to 7.8. "My body finally matches what I'm eating," he wrote. "I'm not mad. I wasn't lying. The chemistry was just broken." I'm not saying this is a miracle cure. It's not. Diabetes is complicated. Everyone's body is different. But if the diets haven't worked. If exercise is too hard on your body. If your HbA1c is stuck no matter what you do. If you've felt like a failure for years. There's a reason for that. It's not you. It's chemistry. Your muscles can absorb glucose without insulin. That's biology. But when you can't exercise properly, your muscles don't get the stimulation they need. NMES gives them that stimulation. Fifteen minutes, twice a day. Sitting on your sofa. Muscles contracting, glucose dropping, insulin normalising, HbA1c finally moving. It costs £70. I've spent more than that on supplements that did nothing. More than that on diet programmes that failed. There's a 90-day guarantee. Three months to see if it works. If it doesn't, you get your money back. You've probably spent years dreading every HbA1c test. Watching the number stay stuck — or climb. Feeling like your body is working against you. What if it's not working against you? What if it just needs help that tablets and diets can't provide? Every morning now, I use the device for fifteen minutes with my cup of tea. Every evening, another fifteen minutes while I watch whatever's on telly. My muscles contract. My glucose drops. My HbA1c finally moves. 730 sessions a year of reminding my body how to process sugar properly. Your HbA1c has been stuck for too long. Your diabetes reviews have been disappointing for too long. Your body has felt like the enemy for too long. There's another way. Your blood sugar deserves better than another diet that won't work. Your energy definitely does. Your family definitely does. Your life definitely does.

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Read this if you feel like you’re failing☝️

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