Restaurants have quickly become a fear of mine. Why, do you ask, should I fear a land where handsome waiters re-fill my soda and my friends and I can sit and chat while someone else makes our food? The reason is because I have quickly become addicted to having a shot or two with dinner. Not of tequila. Nor vodka. Not of anything you'd find behind the bar...but of insulin. And even a very well trained waiter can't help but give someone a second look when they are "shooting up."
So what to do, then? Run to the bathroom if I need to take insulin? Hide under the table, or do it in the car before hand? Those aren't really options, unless I know ahead of time what I am eating. But I've found this odd situation as a perfect opportunity to educate a few people about diabetes.
When I was in the hospital, a room-visiting nun stopped by. She said I didn't look like the type of person who should have diabetes. I am tall, and thin, and young. But she said "on the bright side, now maybe you can help others not get diabetes."
I was shell shocked. Hare dare she imply I did this to myself?! Type 1 diabetes is a chronic disease that is just one of the perks of having my pancreas. I cried for an hour, and then I decided I would tell as many people as possible about type 1 diabetes.
So, although I would rather not have to explain that, no, it isn't drugs I am shooting into my arm, I don't mind teaching a waitress at the Olive Garden or a waiter at Red Robin about this disease I have.
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