Sitting, slightly immobilized from shock, I immediately felt a soreness in my chest. On this day, I happened to be wearing a dress that required me to wear my insulin pump tucked into the front of my bra. I knew that soreness was from the seat belt being pushed against the pump on my chest.
Shit! Please don't tell me I damaged another pump.
Luckily, I was fine. The pump was okay too.
As I sat in my car, waiting for the police and EMT to arrive, my mind immediately went to my blood sugar. Was I low? Was I just shaky from the accident? I had just finished eating a banana before leaving the office, so I knew I wasn't low. Checked my blood sugar and I was at 151.
When the EMT arrived to the scene, he asked me if I was okay. I said, "I'm having slight chest pain, but I'm wearing an...." He interrupted me, "Yeah, I see it. Are you okay? Do you feel pain anywhere else?" Scribbles down insulin-dependent diabetic on his notepad. Questions eventually came, but all knowledgeable, appropriate ones.
No need for explanations of my diabetes, of my pump, of my insulin. He understood.
In all the chaos of crumbled cars, leaky fluids, and liability, it was nice that diabetes was one thing I didn't have to explain.
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