A few weeks ago, Chris and BSparl and I went out to dinner. Dining out with our little bird is a bit of a tangled experience, and we don’t spend as much time people watching as we used to because we’re very preoccupied with the baby wrangling.
That night, though, we were sitting and settled and throwing gluten-free puffs (yes, all of us) around the dinner table like confetti when I saw this woman walk in with her family. She settled her family in at the table, and then reached to remove her coat, revealing a beeper clipped to her pocket.
Only it was one of them fancypants beepers with the tubes and the buttons and the accompanying not-making-insulin pancreas. I reckon it was an insulin pump.
Immediately, I wanted to swing mine over my head like a lasso and say “OMG lady, me too!!!” I’ve had this feeling before, of wanting to sidle up next to someone and say, “I like your pump — want to see my pump?” but to me that sounds more like an awkward attempt to flirt instead of a moment of diabetes bonding. Living in a very comfortable bubble of diabetes advocacy makes me think that everyone who has a visible “symptom” of diabetes wants to talk about it. I have to remind myself that some people just plain don’t want to talk about it.
But since I still wanted to say something, I targeted Chris instead. “Dude, 12 o’clock. Actually, my 12 o’clock, your six o’clock. MiniMed pump on that lady.” I said to Chris without moving my lips, as if a pump sighting was a covert Navy Seals operation.
“Six o’clock? Okay, do you guys know one another? And why are you whispering?” he whispered back. (I love that because she and I both wear pumps, we must know one another. I’ve brought him right into this bubble with me.)
“No, I don’t know her. I have no idea who she is. But I just saw her pump.” I paused, still whispering. “And I was like a toddler, wanting to wave my arms around and say, ‘Pump! Pump!’”
He laughed. The waitress came over to bring our food, and the two of us were immediately distracted by keeping BSparl’s grabby little hands away from the hot plates. We had a nice dinner, and I sort of forgot about the fellow Navy Seal at the other table — until we were leaving the restaurant, when I saw her glance at my hip (where my Animas Ping was tucked away), nudge her husband, and give a little nod. In my head, she whispered, “Dude, four o’clock. Animas Ping. Hooyah!”
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*