Two Insulin Pumpers Walk Into a Bar...
This is the tale of finding a fellow insulin pumper in the wild.
It was a Wednesday night, and I was supposed to be at a diabetes camp board meeting being held on the opposite end of town about 45 minutes from where I live. Thanks to some pressing work tasks that day I left later than planned, and heavy traffic at the start of rush-hour delayed my being able to get up to that part of Indy.
Actually, by the time I made the longer-than-expected drive, it wasn't even worth going to the meeting. And since I hadn't eaten all day and my mind was fried, I decided to stop off for some dinner before driving home after rush hour.
I made my way into a Buffalo Wild Wings, and since it wasn't yet the 5 o'clock hour, the bar was pretty empty. I made my way up to one of the seats with a good view of both big screen TVs, and was all ready to just sit and relax.
The nice bartender girl welcomed me and within a couple minutes I'd snagged a cheap pint of
name-your-big-name-light-beer, ordered some boneless chicken wings and mini corn dogs, and began soaking in ESPN news highlights.
(Had to get the latest on the New England Patriots craziness, which I'd been out of the loop on all day).
Diabetes was the last thing on my mind, aside from my need to dose for the food that was coming my way.
And as I pondered deflated footballs and how two baseball greats being all chummy, I noticed from a glance around that my bartender along with a couple others were off to the side chatting away. Loud enough to hear bits of what they were saying, but it wasn't the focus of my relaxation time and I don't even know what the conversation was really all about.
Yet, about a quarter of the way through my pint, I overheard my bartender-server say:
"(Inaudible)... because I'm diabetic, I have to... (inaudible blah)."
Of course, my ears perked up. Diabetes had found me, even though I wasn't searching for it.
They weren't really saying any more, and within a minute or so she brought my food out. And asked if I needed anything else.
Me: "Nope, all good... but did I hear you say you're diabetic?"
Her: "Yeah, I am."
Me: "Hey, me too! Type 1 or 2?
Her: "Type 1"
Me: "Same here. Since I was 5."
Her: "Really?! How about that?!"
We proceeded to chat for about five minutes, with us exchanging diagnosis stories, her telling me she was diagnosed as a teenager, and how she was a fellow Minimed insulin pumper. Yes, we both flashed our Minimed pumps from both sides of the bar and chatted about some of the other brands out there. And one of her fellow bartenders came over as we had our pumps out and said, "That looks like a pager!"
Enter a quick look exchange and, "Yep, it kinda does."
Anyhow, that was about it. She was actually wrapping up her shift and heading out, so it wasn't a very long conversation. But it felt like I'd found a friend.
Of course, I shared this with the DOC on Twitter, like you do.
No, we didn't exchange names or do any of that. I thought about it, but that wasn't the focus for either of us at the moment and it seemed like we both had other things we wanted to put our minds to. Like going home, and huuuuuge deflated football scandal (I live in Indy, remember).
I'm glad we connected, even briefly, because it's always questionable whether fellow D-peeps in the Wild are open to sharing their personal 411 with total strangers. There's not always time or interest, so I'm glad this brief-but-friendly encounter went as it did.
If I'm ever interested in re-connecting and inviting her to an Adult D-Meetup or something, I know where to go.
So yes, two Insulin Pumpers Walked Into a Bar...
... And the whole Indy D-Community and DOC felt like it was there with us in spirit.
Actually, by the time I made the longer-than-expected drive, it wasn't even worth going to the meeting. And since I hadn't eaten all day and my mind was fried, I decided to stop off for some dinner before driving home after rush hour.
I made my way into a Buffalo Wild Wings, and since it wasn't yet the 5 o'clock hour, the bar was pretty empty. I made my way up to one of the seats with a good view of both big screen TVs, and was all ready to just sit and relax.
The nice bartender girl welcomed me and within a couple minutes I'd snagged a cheap pint of
name-your-big-name-light-beer, ordered some boneless chicken wings and mini corn dogs, and began soaking in ESPN news highlights.
(Had to get the latest on the New England Patriots craziness, which I'd been out of the loop on all day).
Diabetes was the last thing on my mind, aside from my need to dose for the food that was coming my way.
And as I pondered deflated footballs and how two baseball greats being all chummy, I noticed from a glance around that my bartender along with a couple others were off to the side chatting away. Loud enough to hear bits of what they were saying, but it wasn't the focus of my relaxation time and I don't even know what the conversation was really all about.
Yet, about a quarter of the way through my pint, I overheard my bartender-server say:
"(Inaudible)... because I'm diabetic, I have to... (inaudible blah)."
Of course, my ears perked up. Diabetes had found me, even though I wasn't searching for it.
They weren't really saying any more, and within a minute or so she brought my food out. And asked if I needed anything else.
Me: "Nope, all good... but did I hear you say you're diabetic?"
Her: "Yeah, I am."
Me: "Hey, me too! Type 1 or 2?
Her: "Type 1"
Me: "Same here. Since I was 5."
Her: "Really?! How about that?!"
We proceeded to chat for about five minutes, with us exchanging diagnosis stories, her telling me she was diagnosed as a teenager, and how she was a fellow Minimed insulin pumper. Yes, we both flashed our Minimed pumps from both sides of the bar and chatted about some of the other brands out there. And one of her fellow bartenders came over as we had our pumps out and said, "That looks like a pager!"
Enter a quick look exchange and, "Yep, it kinda does."
Anyhow, that was about it. She was actually wrapping up her shift and heading out, so it wasn't a very long conversation. But it felt like I'd found a friend.
Of course, I shared this with the DOC on Twitter, like you do.
No, we didn't exchange names or do any of that. I thought about it, but that wasn't the focus for either of us at the moment and it seemed like we both had other things we wanted to put our minds to. Like going home, and huuuuuge deflated football scandal (I live in Indy, remember).
I'm glad we connected, even briefly, because it's always questionable whether fellow D-peeps in the Wild are open to sharing their personal 411 with total strangers. There's not always time or interest, so I'm glad this brief-but-friendly encounter went as it did.
If I'm ever interested in re-connecting and inviting her to an Adult D-Meetup or something, I know where to go.
So yes, two Insulin Pumpers Walked Into a Bar...
... And the whole Indy D-Community and DOC felt like it was there with us in spirit.
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