Last week, I made one of my twice a year treks to my stellar endocrinologist, Dr. R., to get the results of my A1C and have my vitals checked. Doctor’s offices always set me on edge, and this time was no exception.
While waiting for the doctor, I spent my time crossing and uncrossing my legs, leafing through the diabetes mags, and thinking about the other folks sharing the waiting room. I wondered if the woman in the blue sweater was on a low-carb diet and if the man with the green ski cap regularly charted his sugars. Was anyone there on a pump? Had they ever had the Byetta blues? How well did they handle the day to day trials of their diabetes?
After ten minutes or so, I was ushered in to get weighed (o.k.) and to go over my lab results. Inside I heard (hoo-ray!) that my current A1C reading was 5.8, good enough to keep me out of the office for another half year.
Back in the hallway, I settled up my co-pay, and returned to the waiting room. All of the people seated there glanced up at me and for a half second I thought that maybe they had figured out how I had been building up little fantasy worlds about their diabetes care. Then I spotted my gloves on the chair where I had left them behind.
“Oh, it’s you!” the blue sweater woman smiled at me. “We were trying to imagine who they could belong to.”
Around her, the other patients nodded and smiled, minor mystery solved. I pocketed my gloves and smiled back. I didn’t know their individual health records, but I realized that we were all on the same page. Here, I was among friends.