Last week, though, a change in the script:
Me: How does next week look for you?
Him: Could we meet Thursday night?
Him: That should be fine. I'll ask to leave work early.
All this to say that on Thursday night, I left the Type 1 support group dinner on my calendar and, after my appointment, headed to one of our local Mexican restaurants for good food and good conversation with other Type 1s.
I arrived at the restaurant, spotted a long table of 30-somethings, and walked over. Tentatively, I asked, "Is this...?" "Yes. Have a seat!" I sat down next to a certified diabetes educator, D, and quickly learned that an appointment with him would unlock the secret to consuming Mexican food and exercising to my heart's desire without the unpleasantness of a low. I accepted his card gratefully and made a mental note to call him next week.
Across the table from me were two women having a discussion about their pumps, which they had placed on the table between them. They were fiddling with these devices and swapping tips. Right across the table from me.
A couple seats over was a young woman who had been diagnosed last year, just like me, at nearly the same age. We found out very quickly that we actually worked in the same office building!
I felt so pumped leaving dinner. D was right when he told me to keep coming back. That I needed this group. I felt known. I felt like I found a place I belonged.