Diabetes in the Wild, Investment Seminar Edition

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.

let's party out loud!
I never thought I’d be writing about diabetes and the investment sector in one single piece, but then again, I never thought I’d do a lot of the things I’ve done so far in life.

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.

Diabetes in the Wild: Beach Edition

I’d just settled into my beach chair, ready to crack open a book, when I spotted her.

She was walking as quickly as she could through the sand to help her friend carry a cooler, but not fast enough for me to miss the CGM on her upper arm. I sat up in my chair and wondered whether I should say something to her – after all, not all T1Ds are excited to encounter one another in the wild.

She caught up with her friend and grabbed the other end of the cooler. As they passed me, I saw she was wearing an OmniPod on her opposite arm. Not just any OmniPod, though: This one was decorated with some sort of emerald green design. I took that as a sign, a literal green light, that she probably wouldn’t mind if I said something.

“Nice OmniPod!” I called out.

She looked around, trying to locate my voice. My mother, who’d been reading the whole time and was unaware of a fellow T1D in our midst, shot a bemused look in my direction as the woman finally made eye contact with me.

“I have one too,” I said, pointing to my arm.

“Nice! I like your decoration. Do you have a Dex, too?” She asked, smiling at me.

“Yup – I’m wearing mine on my abdomen. I saw you had both and couldn’t resist saying something.”

“Well, we’ve got two OmniPodders over here,” She pointed to where she’d set up camp for the day.

Beaming, I told her that we had two in our group, as well. My mom offered her arm up to show her pod. I think that Mom was half entertained, half embarrassed over the whole exchange, so it made me happy to see her join in at the end.

The woman returned to her spot and we wished her well. Mom and I soaked up the sun for a few hours before deciding to pack up for the day. As we were getting our belongings together, a young woman approached us.

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Proud to wear my pod.

“Excuse me, may I ask what is on your arms? I’ve seen numerous people wearing that sort of thing today and I can’t figure out what it is, for the life of me!”

I was going to answer for the both of us, but my mom beat me to the punch. She explained that it was an insulin pump, though other people may wear different medical devices that look similar to it. The girl, seemingly appreciating the response, remarked that it was cool and that she was surprised to see so many people wearing them on the beach. She wondered out loud if she was missing out on some sort of trend.

“Yeah, all the cool kids have them,” Mom said, and we all laughed.

I don’t know how many people on the beach that day were wearing OmniPods – or any other insulin pump, for that matter – but I do know for certain that my mom is right: All the cool kids have them, and they’re much cooler for wearing them with pride in full view of the world.

Diabetes in the Wild

Diabetes in the wild refers to a random encounter with another T1D when out and about. My favorite recent occurrence of this happened when I was in Disney World with my mom (also a T1D). We had just entered Animal Kingdom. I was sporting my pod on the back of my upper arm.

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I don’t think Timon noticed my pod, but another T1D in the park sure did!

“Hey, Podder!” I heard someone yell. For a split second, I thought someone was saying, “hey, Potter,” you know, like the Harry Potter kind of Potter.

I looked around and saw a girl a few years younger than me waving her arms in my direction. When we made eye contact, she smiled and pointed at her pod. I gave her a thumbs up and the moment was over as quickly as it happened.

But it puts a smile on my face when I think about it, because it goes to show how awesome these chance meetings are – they serve as little reminders that even when I may feel like the odd duck in a crowd due to my pod, I’m not as alone as I think I am when it comes to diabetes.