Pumped

Since participating in the JDRF walk in the fall, I'd been receiving monthly emails about Type 1 support group meetings and dinners out.  Each time, I would add the event to Google calendar.  Excitedly anticipate it.  And, one week out, inevitably delete the event when a client requested to see me the same evening.

Last week, though, a change in the script:

Me: How does next week look for you?
Him: Could we meet Thursday night?
Me: Sure.  What time?  Sure.  But we'll need to meet earlier.  How about 5pm?
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.