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By shannon, December 11, 2009 11:21 am

Yesterday felt like the longest day ever while I was at work.  I tired to get into the office super early so that I’d be able to leave early. Why?  Because my new Omnipod would be waiting for me when I got home.  But the bad drivers of Baltimore were conspiring against me.  I ended up getting to work 30 minutes later than I’d intended.

Once I arrived, I spent far too many minutes checking and rechecking the FedEx tracking page.  Finally, at 12:28, the package was delivered, and from that moment on, I was completely useless at work (not that I’d been all that productive anyway).  I just wanted to go home to my new present.

Does it make me a complete geek to be that excited about an insulin pump?  Do I care?  Nope.  Not even a little.  I wear the geek title with pride.  The other badge I wear, although not with any pride, is impatience.  I’m a type A personality (as if you hadn’t already figured that out for yourself).  I’m extremely high strung, and I want what I want when I want it.

Finally, at 3:30 pm, I hopped in my Tahoe and started home.  First, I had to stop at the pharmacy to pick up my new Freestyle Test Strips to use with the Omnipod PDM.  Since I’m well known at my local Walgreens, it was a quick in/out process.  Once again, I was back in the Tahoe heading home.

As I pulled into our driveway, I saw it.  Like a big, beautifully wrapped Christmas gift, there sat the plain brown cardboard box that held the next phase of my diabetes life.  I hurried out of the Tahoe, grabbed my 30 lb (well, probably not 30, but it’s damned heavy) bag that I have to carry because I must cart tons of diabetes supplies around, and bent over to pick up the box.

It was a lot heavier than I expected.  I remember all of my Minimed supply shipments being really light.  For some reason, the extra weight of the box pleased me.  Almost like the whole system had more . . . I don’t know? Substance?

Once upstairs, I ripped the box open, and the heavens sang.  It was beautiful (I should have taken a photo, but I suck).  My starter kit and five (5!) boxes of pods were carefully packed.  Also in the box:  a white silicone “skin” for the PDM, a Freestyle Flash meter (I guess to use as a backup), and a USB cable for uploading data to a PC (note my only disappointment – no Mac compatibility).

I immediately went to work setting up the PDM according to the instructions and the online tutorial I had watched earlier (while pretending to work).  I entered all of the typical date/time/etc. stuff, basal rates (I have seven!), my I:C ratio, and my correction factor.  After all the settings were done, the PDM asked it I wanted to activate a new Pod.  Why, yes.  I did!

I filled a new Pod with Novolog according to the instructions (the PDM walked me through each step of new Pod activation), removed the needle cap and adhesive backing, and stuck it on my arm.  I pinched the skin, pressed the magic Start button on the PDM, and felt a tiny prick as the needle inserted the cannula.

That’s all it took.  I looked through the little window on the pod, confirmed that the cannula was inserted properly and that there was no blood, and I was done.

I removed the Minimed infusion set, pulled the battery, and placed it in the small box that the Omnipod PDM came in.  I felt a moment of sadness – this pump has been with me through most of the recent big events in my life.  But, when I lost faith in Minimed, my pump had to go.

As I was completely wrapped up in my new device, cooking dinner was out of the question.  We decided to order a pizza, which meant . . . The Pizza Bolus.  It was the first test of my new Omnipod, and the extended bolus worked perfectly.  I was in love.

I tested my BG before bed, calibrated Dex, and crashed.  I slept great!  I woke up once to use the bathroom, and for the first time in years, I didn’t have to search for my pump before sliding out of bed (I often dropped it during that process).  I didn’t have to clip it to my pajama bottoms when I got up this morning, and I didn’t have to disconnect anything before taking my shower.  And my loofah didn’t get stuck on anything!  It was a beautiful moment, and I almost cried.

When I got to work this morning, I download the CoPilot and Extension software to my new Netbook (more on that later), connected my PDM, and uploaded my pump settings and data (so far).  It was painless, and I’m impressed with the software (I just wish I could use it for my DexCom, too).

So, after 18 hours, I’m a very happy Pod person!

Comments (3)

By shannon, November 13, 2009 9:03 am

Let me set this one up for you guys.  I work (as a consultant) for a big, well-known corporation.  My client is a large government agency.  Whenever I have a meeting with <client>, I must pass through metal detectors, and my bag must go through an x-ray machine (similar to what you deal with at the airport).

The Scene:  The main lobby for Agency.

The Players:  Me, Security Guard #1, Security Guard #2, Co-workers, Metal Detector

Already running late for a meeting, I rush over to security and hope that *this* time will be different.  I put my cell phone, keys, and DexCom in my bag and place it on the belt.  Having already transferring my pump from its usual resting place in my bra, it’s now clipped to the pocket of my pants.   It’s always worse if I have an audience when removing it from my bra, so I’ve learned to move it ahead of time. 

My co-workers are all proceeding normally through the metal detector.  It’s now my turn.

Metal Detector:  BEEEEEEP!!!!

Security Guard #1:  Referring to the insulin pump clipped to my pants, “You’re gonna have to put that cell phone through the x-ray.”

Me:  Big sigh.  I already know where this is going because it happens EVERY TIME I go to Agency.  “It’s not a cell phone, it’s an insulin pump.”

SG#1:  “Whatever it is, you need to take it off, put it in a bin to go through x-ray, and pass through again.”

Me:  Thinking about the fact that the infusion set is currently on my right thigh, “Where would you like me to change?”

SG#1:  “Huh?”

Me:  “See, this is an insulin pump.  I have diabetes, which means that my pancreas doesn’t produce enough insulin for me to survive.  I have to use this device to pump insulin into my body.  It’s currently attached by a catheter to my leg.  If you want me to remove it, I’m going to have to take off my pants.”

SG#1 to Security Guard #2:  “Hey Joe, you ever heard of a insolent pump?”

Me:  “Insulin Pump.”

SG#2:  “Nope.  Better call <supervisor>.”

Me to Co-workers:  “Stop laughing and go tell <client> that I’m going to be late!”

SG#2:  “What’s that thing on your arm?  That has to come off, too.”  

Me:  Oh, shit.  He’s going to give me a hard time about my DexCom sensor?  “This is a sensor to read my blood sugar.  I can’t take it off, and if I hadn’t removed my jacket to pass through the metal detector, you would never have seen it!”

SG#1:  On the phone with supervisor. “Don’t get upset, ma’am.  We’re just doing our job.  This is all to keep you safe.”

Me:  “Look, I have a meeting with <client> in three minutes, and I still have to walk all the way across the building.  Either use your little wand thingy on me to make sure I’m not carrying a concealed weapon, or get your supervisor down here to address the situation in person.”

SG#1 to SG2:  Hangs up phone.  “<Supervisor> says to Wand her, and if she’s cool, let her go.”  To me, he says, “<Supervisor> also said that next time, you gotta bring papers from your doctor for them things.”  He waves his hand in disgust at me, almost as if I’ve got some contagious disease.

Me:  Just wanting to go.  The crown that has gathered is really starting to irk me. “Yep, sure.  Will do.”

The Wand confirms that I’m not packing heat.  I grab bag and proceed to meeting, chuckling at the fact that neither guard said a word about the syringes in my bag.  Security at its finest.

Comments (0)

By shannon, April 24, 2009 7:53 am

Back when I was working for a small IT consulting firm, I had a rather difficult relationship with the management team.  I was hired to manage a department based on my education, experience, and success.  Instead, once I was “on the job,” I was expected to do everything the same way it had always been done.  Obviously, this was not a successful formula, and my ideas would have helped the company overcome some of its greatest limitations.