I know I said I enjoy educating folks about diabetes, but I think I might keep my stinking mouth shut from now on.

The scene was a birthday party. I skipped my Symlin for the dinner portion because I didn't want to sneak away to inject. Looking at my plate of hamburger, baked beans and potato salad, I took my pump off my belt, SWAG bolused and went about the rest of my meal. No one seemed to notice my pump; if they did, they didn't say anything.

After presents it was, naturally, cake time. Ice cream cake to be exact. The Mr. and our friend A. cut while I helped distribute. When we got around to asking G. how big of a slice he wanted, his wife answered, "Just a little one. He's diabetic, that's why." Apparently, her comments got lost in the noise, because she repeated herself.

"Well, I am, too," I said to C. I should have just stayed quiet. My pump was covered by my shirt, no one had asked about it, I should have just shut up.

"Oh, really?" C. said. "Are you on shots?"

"No," I said smiling. "I have a pump." I lifted my shirt to reveal Toohey.

"That's a fancy contraption you have there," A. said. "I have a friend at work who has a pump. She keeps it in her bra."

C. looked at me. "You must have it really bad then," she said.

I gave her one of those well-aren't-you-stupid smiles and said, "Actually no. Any kind of diabetes is bad. The pump is actually the gold standard of diabetes care."

We continued talking while I ate my slice of ice cream cake. C. watched as I pushed Toohey's buttons. Since G. and C. run their own business, insurance coverage is pretty bare, C. told me. G.'s diabetes is managed with insulin, but the insurance won't cover a pump, C. said. And based on how uncontrolled G. sounds to Dr. Kowalski, my guess is that roller coaster blood sugar to C. equals "bad diabetes." I got the feeling from this conversation that no matter what I said she'll still think I have the bad kind.