I always get kind of excited when I’m out and about and notice another T1D. There are some pretty obvious signs that clue me into their similarly useless pancreases: spotting insulin pump tubing, witnessing a finger stick check, and spying a syringe injection are chief among them. Even though I know what to look for and what it means, though, I still can’t help but feel a little thrill when I know I’m in the presence of another person with diabetes.
I know, I know…that makes me sorta weird/creepy, depending on your perspective. But whatever, it is what it is!
Anyways, I experienced another edition of “diabetes in the wild” when I was stuck, in all places, in an investment seminar. I (willingly) signed up for it as part of ongoing educational training for work and didn’t really know what to expect from it. All I knew going into it was that it was expected to last THREE FRIGGEN’ HOURS.
That’s a long-ass time to spend talking about stocks, bonds, and ETFs.
To make matters slightly worse, upon seeing the other students enrolled in the class, I figured I had basically nothing in common with them. The other seven people were around my parents’ age and up, with a couple of them looking like they were retirees. It was also a predominantly male group, with the seminar being conducted by a male financial professional…so yeah, didn’t seem like there would be much for me to talk about with everyone else.
No big deal. I settled in for what was bound to be a long evening. Just when the seminar instructor started diving into a very-not-fascinating slide on poor diversification within individual investment portfolios, I heard a high-pitched beep from across the room.
My attention immediately drifted from the front of the room to where I thought the sound had come from. My eyes landed on a man (who looked like the oldest of the bunch) who was reaching into his pocket for something…aha! A glucometer!
One of me, one of me…I started chanting. In my head. Because I’m not THAT weird.
I wondered what kind of meter it was – I couldn’t think of any off the top of my head that beeped. But then I saw the man reach back into his pocket to grab…oh, so that’s where the beeping noise was coming from – his pump. It wasn’t an OmniPod; rather, I saw the trail of tubing peeping out from his jeans.
For the next half hour or so, I noticed the man fiddle with his glucometer and pump a few times. I felt badly for him and hoped that he wasn’t experiencing any blood sugar issues or technical difficulties. Plus, I’m sure he must’ve felt a little self-conscious about his devices being out in the open – the instructor did glance at him a few times, as if he was thinking that the man should stop playing with his electronics and focus on the presentation. Given that was the correct interpretation of the situation, I felt defensive for the man. I wanted to tell the instructor to give him a break, that he was doing what needed to be done for his health.
At the seminar’s conclusion, I had every intention of going up to the man, introducing myself, and having a conversation about diabetes. But then…I stopped myself. I’m trying to get better about remembering that many people with diabetes are not as comfortable as I am when it comes to talking about it to perfect strangers. Maybe it would’ve embarrassed him further or made him angry. So I walked out of the classroom, quietly, albeit with a slight smile on my face…because diabetes isn’t always an illness of isolation. It can be the common denominator between you and someone else you don’t think you could possibly share anything with. And sometimes, you can find it in the most random, unexpected places and suddenly feel a bit less lonely.