T McShane

The letter C brings us to cannula, by request.

I found an interesting photograph of an insulin pump cannula that said much of what I'd decided to write when I was thinking through this post. Essentially, the photo verbalizes for me the sentiment that my life - the lives of all of us who use an insulin pump - turn (quite literally) on a dime. The cannula that delivers the medicine that keeps us alive is smaller than a coin that, this day and age, won't even pay for a gum ball.

But, oh, how that very tiny piece of tubing matters. Anyone who's had a kink or a bend in their cannula knows what it can do to blood sugar. Anyone who's seen that little piece of tubing popping up from the center of the tape-gauze that secures it to the skin knows the panic it can cause.

I think we can all agree, it's not actually the cannula's fault. It's not its fault when it bends or pops up or gets blocked with blood. It's not its fault when our blood sugar is 365 mg/dl even after two doses of insulin. The cannula is, after all, an inanimate object. It is just one of those "small things" that represent how those of us using a pump are required to live our lives. It has its place aside the little test strips and the lancet tips and the insulin in the little bottles or the drip-drop form it takes when its delivered by the pump.

All of these things are physically small. But in the end, everything they sustain makes them seem so much larger.

When I look at that cannula as it enters or exits my body, I see years. Years that I know have been added to my life because using an insulin pump has drastically improved my diabetes control. I see a future with the man I love. I see the faces of my nieces and nephews and I see myself being there as they graduate high school and college, as they make their way in this world. I see the opportunity to make a difference through my work. I see the opportunity to share the story of how I've lived well with diabetes.

I see my life, turning on that dime-sized length of tubing.