(Continued)

Now, about this time, I ought to tell my friendly hairdresser that I really need to retest. That it'll only take a minute. That I'm a bit dizzy. But I don't. And I have this irrational and overwhelming urge to laugh as I picture myself pulling a Steel Magnolias'-style Shelby freak out in my own, hometown version of Truvy's Salon. Still, I don't say anything, as I am wrapped in a smock and my hair falls in small, trim-length strands all around. Everything is a bit turned around. The older lady from earlier is STARING at me again. I wonder what she's thinking.

I wonder if she thinks whatever I've got is catchy. I'm sure I look a fright. I try to focus on staying upright as the cut is finished and my hair is styled. When it's done, I sit in the chair too long, trying to gather my things, throwing away the spent juice bag and mentos wrapper. I test gain, 5-4-3-2-1... "41 mg/dl." Oof. Not so hot.

I think, "Hopefully I can stand."

And I do. Stand, that is. And then I hear a voice say, "Do you need some food?"

"What?" I respond.

I turn around and realize it's older staring lady. "Do you need some food?" She repeats.

"Um, Um" Is about all I can manage.

"My daughter has diabetes. Are you OK? Do you need some food?" She says, now up and out of her seat, a mess of foils in her hair.

"Well, yes, I think I might." I say. "It's not coming up."

And the older lady moves fast. She gives someone money to run across the street to grab some juice. She sits me in a chair and asks me my name. She talks to me about her daughter - asking me questions and keeping me talking. And I sit there, half-out of it, but in it enough to know how stupid I'd been earlier. She wasn't staring at me because she didn't know about diabetes or out of disgust, she was staring because she knew exactly what it was like to live with this thing. I was feeling both idiotic and grateful.

Someone hands me juice. I sit in the chair, and the lady continues talking, her hair still in foils. She tells me we'll wait until she rinses to test again. And we wait.

After her hair is rinsed, it has gone from dark blonde to brown - and I think she looks beautiful. Of course, it could be because I really thought she was an angel at that point.

I retest. Anxious. I don't want to disappoint this woman. "Come on, I think, come on, come up!"

5-4-3-2-1... "89 mg/dl"

"Well that's better, isn't it?" She says.

"Yes it is" I say, and I smile wide. "Hey, thank you so much. You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," She said, "We're all in this together, you know."

And I felt so blessed by those words. Because it's the truth. It's the beauty that sometimes happens when people who have similar broken parts - or loved ones with similar broken parts - come together. It's what being human is really about, isn't it? Too often, people get so caught up in their own traumas - or dramas- or whatever - and they forget that others understand and will help - and they forget that they need to understand and help others. It's incredibly refreshing when someone reaches for you when they don't have to. Out of no sense of obligation, but the understanding in their heart.