Badlands

Some days, I really LOVE my insulin pump. On those days, I recognize the power of this life-saving device and I am grateful to have it at my side. On those days, when I'm not connected for a shower or exercise, I am acutely aware of its absence.

My insulin pump allows me freedom, I know that. I no longer have to cart around a bag filled with syringes or pens, alcohol preps, and bottles of insulin. The device at my hip and a small bag with a meter, a lancing device, a bottle of testing strips, an extra infusion set, and a AAA battery and I'm good to go. Further, I can go a whole day at work or home and not eat a thing. I can get caught up in a project or a book and wile away hours without food and my bloodsugar almost always stays between 90 and 120 mg/dl. This is a far cry from days on multiple daily injections when more than a few hours without something to eat would almost always result in a plummeting bloodsugar. My little Cozmo is pretty amazing.

But there are days. Days when I want to wear something that's fitted and I can't find a place to put this incredible device, when it seems like my pump is the size of a brick. Days when I can't stay in range and I blame it on my pump because I need something to pin it on.

And there are days when the pump fails. Those are the worst. Those are the days that remind me, without any shadow of a doubt, that my life depends on this device. The failure alarm starts blaring and I panic, trying desperately to make the pump unfail, to make it work, to make whatever is wrong right again. But that never happens. Ever. And I am left without my constant companion, feeling as if someone has cut off one of my limbs. And that reminder of my dependence on a machine, something so fallible, makes me HATE my insulin pump.

My relationship with my faux-pancreas is interesting and delicate, though I doubt it's all that unique. I imagine that all of us living the connected life as insulin pumpers have moments when we love the machines that give us our lifeblood and moments when we just can't stand them. I think we must all have days when we don't even notice our plastic organ and days when it just can't be ignored.

I would never give up this life, but I do so wish I didn't have to live it. Love-hate defined.