No matter how commonplace diabetes has become, I still react the same way when I see a person with diabetes in the wild. I still feel a special connection despite the fact that I don’t physically share the disease. I get excited, like I’ve just spotted a rare plant species or a member of a secret underground society - whose cover is only blown with the slightest hint of pump-tubing. I feel like there should be a unique handshake or some sort of enigmatic hand gesture.

I walked by an all-glass conference room at work the other day and saw two guys sitting at a long spruce-colored table and glancing up at the large flat-panel monitor on the wall. As I walked by, I saw one guy begin to unzip a small black pouch.

"Hmm," I thought. "I think I just saw a diabetic."

To be certain, I circled around and did a second drive-by. This time the guy had a white pricker flush against his index finger. The other guy just went about his business, punching keys on the keyboard, ignoring the quick blood-sugar check. I gazed at him in wonderment like he was the Loch Ness monster.

I wanted to pound the glass repeatedly, screaming loudly to penetrate the thick glass.

"Hey!!!"

"Hey!!!"

"So what’s your blood sugar???"

"Hey!!!"

"You OK???"

"Are you low???"

"Do you need me to get you some juice???"

I wanted to breathe my hot breath on the glass and write "my son has diabetes too" with my finger on the glass and a drawing of an unhappy face.

I wanted to barge into their meeting and just give the guy a hug.

Of course, I did none of those things.