and it's not about me.

I'm not even sure it's about medical insurance -- but it's sure about the D.

I've recently learned that a recent infection has cost a close real-life friend (and fellow PWD) another one of his toes, and a sizeable chunk of uncovered medical expenses. Until this weekend, a number of his close friends (including me) had known he'd been hospitalized, and that there was talk about a skin graft after everything healed -- but we didn't know the extent of the damage (both physical and fiscal).

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It was mid-afternoon as I strolled into the local pharmacy. I needed more Novolog insulin pens and today's trip would prove itself as unsmooth as usual. The diabetic smack in the face did not come for me, however, but for the slightly unsorted diabetic fellow ahead of me.

This day's pharmaceutical quest was not stunted by the feared insurance decline, or the "too early" for a refill drama. Not even the "out of stock" song from the pharmacy tech, or wrong sized needles being slid over the counter. It was simply an, "I'm sorry, I can't help you" interaction.

Unsorted Diabetic: What do you mean I can't refill my syringes here?

Pharmacy Tech: I'm sorry. I have no record of you as an approved customer.

Unsorted Diabetic: I don't usually get my refills here. I was just in the area.

Pharmacy Tech: Some muffled explanation and seemingly helpful recourse. (READ MORE)