Setting: Easter Sunday
I had gotten my plate full of delicious food, and was extra thankful for all the veggie side dishes this year. I knew that most of my carbs from the day were coming from beers & dessert. One of my favorite side dishes though is pineapple stuffing, so I took out my pump to bolus. My uncle’s niece (AKA, other side of the family, not related to me) asked me what it was. I told her it was my insulin pump and she said “you have diabetes?” I have seen this woman many times over the years, and we always have a wonderful time at the big holidays. I responded quickly & bluntly: “you didn’t know?” I could not believe after all these years she had no idea, but it was also pretty amazing.
Setting: Ski Bar during Spring Skiing
Last summer I got tested for Celiac at FFL, and I currently do not have it. However, if I eat too much gluten, I do not feel well. My endo thinks I have a gluten intolerance. There are a few beers that I find worth drinking, but not many. Beer makes me feel worse than most other singular forms of gluten. When I go to a bar, I get cider. I know there is a lot of sugar, but dealing with that is easier than feeling like hell. We made new friends, because that’s what ski bars are for. One of the guys started giving me shit about cider vs. beer. I just said that I had celiac. Let me be clear: I know that I do not have celiac, and I know it is a possibility in my future. However, it’s also a trigger word to get drunk guys to stop bugging me. It worked, and no one gave me crap for not drinking real beer the rest of the night.
Setting: Driving in the Car
Earlier in the day, I had changed my pump site. I never check my battery level before changing it, so when I heard my pump singing on the highway, I assumed the battery was dying. I took it out of my pocket though, and I saw “pump not primed for delivery.” My brain went back to Kentucky where Mer’s pump kept telling her this (what felt like) every hour. I also had felt low before getting in the car, so I had had a juice box. I quickly thought if I could leave it until I reached my destination, and decided that was too long. All of a sudden, the reservoir cap hit my hand, and I knew why it was not primed. I figured out where the best place for me to get off the high was, grumbled at the horrendously tiny pockets in my pants, and went on my way.