I told the security lady at Nashville’s airport that I was wearing an insulin pump before I walked through the screening checkpoint ahead of my two kids who had been freed from the double stroller for security purposes. She nodded and told me to step over to a guy who was going to check my hands.
I still have no idea what he swabbed my hands for, but he said, “So do you have a Medtronic pump?”
“Yes. I’ve been wearing it less than a week,” I volunteered on what was the early part of my fifth full day wearing a device that works as an external, mechanical pancreas.
He surprised me when his response was about how he’d been wearing an insulin pump for seven years. “You’ll get so used to it that you won’t think about it until you have to enter your carbs. Counting carbs is the most important thing.”
I felt at ease as I walked away from him on the first leg of my day-long journey to Maine. I still had no clue why he had wiped my hands. But I felt good about the pump in my jeans pocket.
And, really, other than an exception that involved too much snacking on sweet treats while sitting in the van while going from Ellsworth, Maine, to Boston, I’ve had blood sugar readings that affirmed insulin pump therapy is welcome in my life. Even when life goes on the road, the pump provides freedom in its convenience. I spent my 10-day vacation on the go. The pump just went along with me and I often didn’t think a thing about my new friend Izzy tagging along.
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