Part of the reason I’ve been able to get through it all has been because I haven’t had to worry about work.  My boss, who has always been kind and supportive, allowed me to take the time for doctor’s appointments and to grieve for Lisa.  She was always someone who I felt like I could talk to.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not all take, take, take.  I have worked very hard to earn (I think) her trust and the freedom she gives me.  And she knows that I will do whatever it takes to get the job done. 

So, when I brought a continuing issue to her this morning, I expected her understanding.  I expected her empathy.  I expected her to hear me out.

What I got was a response that upset me a great deal.  Instead of understanding and empathy, I got condescension.  Instead of hearing me out, I was told, “I don’t see what the drama is?”  (There is something about using the word “drama” that drives me crazy – it implies diva-like behavior). 

I remained calm and tried to explain the situation better.  She continued to imply that I was being low and petty for even bringing it up.  To me, this problem is something that directly affects my job.  It is a big frustration, and one that could be easily fixed.

As soon as I got back to my desk, the tears began.  Am I crying because I’m angry?  Is it because I’m upset?  Is it because the smallest things seem to make me cry lately?  Probably all of the above. 

I know that my boss is going through a lot herself.  Maybe I caught her at a bad time.  I don’t know why she reacted this way, but for whatever reason, her reaction managed to shatter the composure I’ve worked so hard to maintain. 

Frankly, putting on a happy face every day is exhausting.  Trying to act like everything is fine is really taking its toll.  I spend so much energy just getting through the day that when someone I’ve come to trust and respect hurts me, I have no defenses left.

So, I decided to participate in Karen’s brilliant idea:  The First Annual Diabetes Blog Week .  All week, I’ll be blogging about the different aspects of my life with diabetes.  When I last checked, there were a TON of bloggers who are also participating, so when you’re done here, check them out.

Today’s topic is: A Day in the Life … With Diabetes

12:01am – 5:29am:  Sleep.

5:30am: Alarm.  Ugh.  I want to go back to sleep.  I decide to let Dexcom decide.  If my BG is in range, I’ll get up; if it’s not, I’ll correct and go back to sleep.  Dex shows a nice flat line with a BG of 87 mg/dl.  I decide that the agreement wasn’t in writing and, therefore, is not binding.  I roll over and go back to sleep.

6:08am:  Brian brings me a cup of coffee because he’s the greatest husband ever.  I slowly come to life.  I check my BG and confirm Dex’s assessment with a PDM reading of 92 mg/dl.  Thankful that my nighttime basals are spot on, I check my iPhone for email and Twitter updates.

6:18am:  I finally get up and stumble into the bathroom.  I brush my teeth, shower (thankful that I no longer have to suspend and disconnect a pump to do so), and get ready for work.  I peek at Dex a few times just to confirm that I’m not rising or dropping unexpectedly.

7:10am:  I do a quick finger test to confirm that it’s safe to drive – 102 mg/dl.  I hop (well, not really– it is still morning, after all) into the car and brave the Baltimore traffic.

7:45am: I arrive at work and unload my various d-tools that I’ll use throughout the day:  PDM, Dex, glucose tabs, iPhone, etc.

7:50am – 9:00am: I work. At staying awake.

9:00am: Prepare a bowl of oatmeal.  BG check is 100 mg/dl, so I inject 60mcg of Symlin and eat. 

9:10am: Finished eating, I bolus for the meal.

9:10 – 11:30am: Work.  Meetings.  More work. Bathroom break.

11:35am:  Dex shows that my breakfast bolus didn’t do its job.  I confirm with a finger stick and take 1.5U to correct.

12:30pm:  Lunch time!  Since I keep a mini fridge at work, I often have lunch stuff available.  Today, I decide to make a turkey and cheese sandwich with mustard.  Dex shows the correction dose finally dropping me to normal range. 

12:35pm:  I do a finger stick to check my BG: 112 mg/dl.  I dial up 60mcg of Symlin and eat my sandwich.  When I’m done, I program an extended bolus and get back to work.

1:10pm:  Feeling weird.  I hear Dex’s low alarm and, after a quick peek, I see that I’m dropping.  FAST.  Looks like the Symlin is working faster than the carbs are being absorbed.  SHIT!  I do a finger stick and look with almost disbelief at the 52 mg/dl staring back at me.  I have no idea what to do.  The Symlin will delay any fast acting glucose I take, so I won’t rebound quickly, AND I’ll be high later.  I decide to wait it out.

1:15pm:  WTF is taking so long?  I’m still hovering at 50 mg/dl.

1:20pm:  Sweating now?  Really? 

1:21pm:  Screw it.  I drink some juice and hope that it helps.

1:30pm:  Finally beginning to rise, I feel well enough to get back to work. 

2:38pm:  Dex HIGH alarm.  Son of a …!!!  Sure enough, finger stick shows 185 mg/dl.  Dex has one arrow straight up, so I know it’s not over.  I correct the 185 and continue working.

3:15pm:  Bathroom break.  Wash hands and test BG – 174 mg/dl.  Damnit!  Correct again.

3:45pm:  Pack up, test BG, and drive home.  Correction dose still not working, but I don’t want to rage bolus only to crash later.

4:15pm:  Home.  Aaaaaah.  I change clothes, go to the bathroom, pet animals, and clean up the kitchen.  I don’t even look at Dex because I’m tired and I just don’t care.

5:00pm:  Waiting for Brian to get home, I begin thinking about dinner.  I check Dex to see if carbs are even an option tonight.  Sure enough, I’m dropping again.  At least this time, it’s a gradual drop and not a jumping-off-a-cliff drop.  More like coasting, really. 

5:30pm:  Brian comes home.  We try to come up with a dinner plan.  “What do you want?”  “I don’t know.  What do YOU want?”  “I don’t know.”  This can go on for hours.

6:02pm:  Dex’s low alarm makes the dinner debate more important.  We decide to go out.  I grab a juice box, and we head out to the restaurant.

6:28pm:  We are seated.  The waitress brings bread (bitch!) and our drink order (iced tea, unsweetened).  After a few minutes, our salads arrive.  I test my BG with a finger stick – still too low for Symlin.  I begin eating the salad, which is soooo good.  I LOVE Carrabba’s Caesar salad. 

6:50pm:  Dinner arrives.  I ordered the Salmon with a pasta side, which I calculate to be about 45g carbs (for ½ of the serving).  I program a 30/70 dual-wave bolus for 2 hours – lots of fat in that lemon butter sauce – and dig in.

7:25pm:  Waitress clears plates and offers us dessert (bitch, again!).  We decline, pay the check, and go home.

7:56pm:  Home.  Again.  Aaaaah.  Dex shows two arrows straight up, so I know that the carbs are hitting me faster than I anticipated.  What to do?  If I attempt to head it off, I WILL go low later.  If not, I’m going to be spiking well above 250 mg/dl before it’s over.  I still don’t know what to do in these situations.  I wait.  I feed the cats and watch some TV with Bri.

9:30pm:  Dex has been bitching at me since we got home.  Since my extended bolus only finished a few minutes ago, I decide to wait a little longer.

10:00pm:  Bed time.  I wash my face, brush and Waterpik my teeth, apply zit cream (don’t even get me started on *that*), and put on PJs.  I grab a juice box from the fridge and put it next to the rest of my diabetes arsenal on my nightstand.  I check my BG with a finger stick – 213 mg/dl.  FUCK!  I take a correction bolus, turn off the lights, and go to sleep.

11:37pm:  Dex alarm – falling faster than 3mg/dl per minute.  Well duh!  I drink the juice box and hope that tomorrow is a better day.  But, I accept the knowledge that today was just another typical day in my diabetes life, and tomorrow is probably going to be similar.

Here’s the thing … A is morbidly obese.  I mean, not just by BMI standards.  Do not interpret this as a judgment of her as a person; that is not why I’m bringing it up.  She is simply very large, and I feared that something far worse than low blood sugar was happening.

So, I grabbed my meter and some glucose tabs and rushed to the ladies room.  As we were walking, I asked K-Mom if A was taking any medications.  She said that she was taking something that began with an “M.”  Obviously, Metformin.  Since I know that Met doesn’t normally cause hypoglycemia, I asked if there was anything else.  K-Mom didn’t know.

When we got to the ladies room, A was seated on the bench, white as a sheet.  She was visibly shaking, and her hands were ice cold.  I knew that her cold hands were going to make the finger stick hurt more, but time was critical.  As I switched lancets and loaded the meter with a test strip, I asked A if she was taking any other meds.  She said that she had recently started taking something “glye…,”  “glii…,” something like that. 

“Glipizide,” I asked.

“Yes, that’s it,” She responded.

Ah ha!  I knew that Glipizide is a sulfonylurea, which can cause low blood sugar. 

<Side note – I’m very well-versed in T2 meds because I was put on almost all of them during my initial misdiagnosis period. /side note> 

So, I lanced her finger, squeezed out some blood, and loaded up the test strip.  I knew, almost immediately, that she wasn’t low.  It was taking too long to read the result for a low number.

137 mg/dl.

Since K-Mom had already called for an ambulance, we waited with A for the paramedics.  There was the possibility that she was dropping really fast, but I didn’t think her shaking was related to the diabetes.  No, I’m not an expert, but I know that A has other health problems.   More than anything, she was scared.  When the paramedics arrived, it was decided that the best course of action was to take A to the hospital.  The helped her walk to the ambulance, loaded her inside, and drove away.

An hour or so later, K-Mom came by to tell me that A was being admitted.  She was running a high fever, and they wanted her on fluids and IV antibiotics. 

While I’m sorry that A had to experience such a scary feeling, I am happy to know that people feel comfortable coming to me with this sort of problem.  I’m happy that living with this crap disease has given me some purpose; even if it’s only to be the office superhero for an afternoon.

I’m feeling so many mixed emotions these days that I hardly know which way is up. 

My sister.  How do you accept that your sister is dying?  How do you reconcile hurt feelings and anger when the knowledge that her time is so limited is always weighing on your mind.  Am I allowed to be hurt when she hurts me?  Or do I have to just forget about it?  Am I allowed to feel taken for granted?  Or do I just accept the knowledge that I will never be as important to her as she is to me?  I don’t know the protocol and it’s killing me.

Babies.  When you’re trying to conceive, babies are everywhere.  They are in every conversation, every commercial.  They are discussed at meetings and social events.  You just have to grin and bear it.  Even when people complain about their lack of sleep/time/social life, you just have to shut up and nod accordingly.  Nevermind that you’d give your right arm to experience that lack of sleep/time/social life.  Nevermind the energy/time/money you’ve expended just to have a chance at a baby. 

Diabetes.  I hate you. 

This is, without a doubt, the hardest time of my life.  With the exception of Brian, I feel very alone.  I’m scared, angry, hurt, and sad.  The cracks in my shell are starting to show.

I guess I had a blog post in me after all.

1.  Some people were “put off” by the way I responded when they offered me candy during said low.  Evidently, I was too stern in my insistence that I drink juice to treat.

2.  People are getting offended when I do not want to try their homemade cakes, cookies, Indian dishes, or other carb mysteries.  As you guys know, I can SWAG, but I’d rather not have to – especially when I’m desperately trying to get my A1c down.

So, here’s what I wrote:

Team,

I know that some of you already know this, but for those who don’t, please be aware that I have Type 1 diabetes.  Due to this, I sometimes experience episodes of extreme high or low Blood Glucose (BG), which can affect me in odd ways.  I work very hard to keep my BG steady, but it is a 24-hour-per-day job, and sometimes, I fail.  I use an insulin pump, which provides me with a constant supply of insulin.  I also use a Continuous Glucose Monitoring System (CGMS), which will sound an alarm if my BG goes too high or too low (everyone who sits near me will hear this beeping from time-to-time).

If you see me, and I appear to be drunk (i.e., slurred speech, stumbling, passed out, etc.), I am most likely having a very low BG reaction (i.e., too much insulin in my body).  I keep a supply of fruit juice in the small refrigerator under my desk – this is what I use to treat low BG.  If I’m low, please help me to drink some juice.  If I’m unconscious, I keep an emergency GlucaGen Kit in my purse (in a bright orange plastic container).  Inside the container, there are instructions on how to mix and administer the injection.  I understand if some people are squeamish around needles, so if you are, please find someone who isn’t ASAP (you could save my life).  In all of my years of having diabetes, I have NEVER had to use the emergency kit.  I don’t intend to start now, but sometimes crazy things happen.

For the most part, I try to avoid foods with unknown carbohydrate values.  This makes pot lucks and other food-sharing activities difficult.  Please do not be offended if I am unwilling to try a particular dish – it has nothing to do with the cooking or the cook.  It’s just about my need to keep my BG as steady as possible.  Keep in mind that I *can* eat anything, so if you see me munching on birthday cake with everyone else, don’t scold me.  As long as I know the carbohydrate count in any food, I can program my insulin pump to accommodate it.

Finally, please do not be offended if I seem short-tempered or overly emotional when I have low BG.  This is not something that I can control, and a short temper is usually my first sign that my BG is dropping.  But other times, I may look and sound perfectly normal – that’s why they call it an “invisible illness.”  Usually, the one symptom of low BG that I always have is an inability to speak.  When I’m low, I just can’t make my brain connect with my mouth.  Again, please don’t be offended if I don’t respond to you right away.  FYI – other visible symptoms of a low BG are sweating, shaking, pale color, and rapid breathing.

So, if you have any questions about diabetes (the most common questions are about the difference between type 1 and type 2), please feel free to ask.  I’m an open book about this aspect of my life.

Thanks in advance for your help and understanding.

Shannon

Now, a full 24 hours after that disastrous appointment, I finally feel like I can articulate my feelings on the Healthcare Reform Bill’s passage. 

There are some fantastic things about this bill.  No more pre-existing condition clauses and limiting the amount insurers can charge are the two biggest improvements.  There are mandates that should have been in place years ago.  But, they come with a price.

I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I oppose this bill.  I have never been a proponent of socialized healthcare, or anything else for that matter.  Now, before you label me a “conspiracy theorist” or “tea partier,” hear (er, read) me out.

I grew up fairly poor.  When my parents divorced, I was five.  My mother, having little education and two young children, moved us from Maine to her parents’ house in Rhode Island.  We stayed there for a while, but eventually moved into dinky apartment, then to a duplex owned by my grandmother.  My grandmother was a huge financial support to us – without her, I doubt we’d have had new school clothes every year and bountiful Christmases.  But, we still didn’t have much money.  Even when I was young, I knew that I didn’t want to struggle like that for my entire life.

Flash forward 30 years to today.  I’m 36 and happily married to a wonderful man. We own a home, two cars (well, three when you count the race car), nice clothes and shoes, and we’re financially stable.  How?  It’s not because of any handouts.  It’s not because I was given a free ride anywhere.  It’s because I’ve worked my ass off for the past 20 years. 

When I was 15, I applied for a job at Thom McAn shoes in the Warwick Mall.  Anyone remember that store?  Well, I got that job, and I worked there throughout high school.  I took public transportation to and from work (anyone in the RI suburbs knows how rare that is).  I bought a car with the money I made selling shoes (and left that car in Mississippi).  I bought another car with the money I made selling shoes.  I worked after school and on weekends.  By the time I was a senior in high school, I was a key holder.  I was “Part-Timer of the Year” a few times, too.

When I went away to college, I worked three jobs.  I did a work study, made and served coffee, and worked in a movie theater.  I rarely slept.

When I got my first “real job,” I was 22.  I started off as a temp, making almost nothing.  I eventually became a permanent employee and worked my way from receptionist to marketing assistant, to proposal/technical writer, to proposal manager.  Over the course of four years, I more than doubled my salary.  I lost that job due to a massive reduction in force (i.e., layoffs).  I went on to lose two more jobs in the span of 12 months – all layoffs.  I struggled.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I was diagnosed with diabetes.  I didn’t let that stop me from achieving my dream.  I continued to work hard at every job I had to take.  Some sucked; some didn’t.  But, in the end, it didn’t matter because they were all just jobs.  Even today, it’s just a job.  I earn great money, and that paycheck lets me do and have the things I want, but it’s still just a job. 

My dream was the American dream:  a home in a safe place, a nice car, a good job, and a happy life.  I worked for that dream, and I finally got it. 

But instead of enjoying it, I am faced with the reality of a $2600 tax bill when others, who contributed nothing to our “society,” are receiving thousands back in “refunds.”  I am required to pay additional taxes because Brian and I make a certain amount of money.  Is that fair?  When others do nothing to better themselves and contribute?  I realize that there are now and will always be those who need help.  But, any able-bodied person, who makes a living off “the system,” is not one of them.  To those who would rather sit around and collect disability (while working a job “under the table”), I say get a real job.  To those whose entire income comes from welfare because they’ve had five kids, I say go to work, and then you won’t have the time or energy to produce more children.

That is my financial objection to this bill.

Next, I want to talk about what happens when the government “runs” anything.  Do any of you like going to the DMV?  Is it an efficient and pleasant experience?  Are the people nice?  What about when you have to deal with the IRS?  Is doing your taxes easy?  Maybe for some it is, but for us, it’s so damned complicated that we almost always screw something up.  I cannot recall a single experience with a government entity that was either pleasant or efficient.  I know we all loathe dealing with our insurance companies whenever there is a problem.  Imagine how much worse it will be when you have to call the government!

That is my administrative objection to this bill.

Under the new law, those who do not purchase health insurance will be fined.  For the first time in American history, citizens will be REQUIRED to purchase something.  Some of you might say that we’re required to purchase auto insurance.  Yes, we are, but only if we want to drive a car.  You do have a choice.  Under this law, a person with a pulse will be required to purchase health coverage.  That is unconstitutional.  I will ALWAYS have health coverage because I’m a diabetic, and it’s a priority.  But, I do NOT want the government having any say in that choice.  It is my decision.

That is my constitutional objection to this bill.

Did anyone read this bill?  Seriously, I’m curious.  Other than the snippets we got from media sources, which were neither fair nor balanced, we have no idea what those nearly 3000 pages said.  As a diabetic, this provision bothers me:

The Senate-approved version of the bill contains a $2 billion yearly tax on medical equipment manufacturers.  The tax will climb to $3 billion in 2017. Money from the tax will help the government subsidize insurance coverage for those who lack it.

Medical equipment manufacturers like Insulet and Dexcom?  Who do you think those taxes will be passed on to?

And what about those non-healthcare related items in the bill?  What about all of those little “pet projects” that got $3 million here and $7 million there?  Those add up fast.  Politicians made deals to secure votes.  Sure, it’s always been done that way, but that doesn’t make it right.

Then, there is the absolute lack of transparency in the entire process.  It was shady, with phone calls from the President to lawmakers urging (threatening?) them to vote Yes.  There was so much pressure to get this thing done because it became about so much more than healthcare.  This was a full-on battle of the parties, and it was ugly. 

That is my political objection to this bill.

In the end, the opinions of the American people meant nothing.  According to Gallup polls, the majority of Americans did not want this bill to pass.  Democrats, Republicans, Independents … it doesn’t matter.  Regular, hardworking, American people did not want this, and a bunch of Washington politicians decided that they knew better. 

This is a very slippery slope, folks.  This could and probably will lead to even more government intervention in our daily lives.  Many of you reading this believe that socialism is good; distribution of wealth is good.  I disagree.  If I wanted to live in a socialist country, there are plenty to choose from.  I did not spend the past 20 years working my ass off so that someone with no ambition and no motivation can live off of my hard-earned money.  I live in a city with a high population of residents on one form or another of government assistance.  Many have a legitimate need for it; many do not.  It’s a lot easier to be idealistic about these matters when you’re not knee-deep in people abusing the system.

To me, this is not about Democrat or Republican; it’s about right and wrong.  Healthcare reform is desperately needed; we all agree on that.  This bill, and anything that gets us closer to Universal Healthcare (or whichever term is being used this week), is not.

If I’ve offended anyone with this, I apologize, but just as you are entitled to your opinion, I am entitled to mine.  If you want to comment, feel free, but do so respectfully.

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!

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.