It’s summertime in San Diego, and that means bathing suit time. Like many of my peers, this comes with a little bit of stress: How do I look in a bathing suit? Can people see that bulge? Ugh, cottage cheese! Is this tan line too visible? I almost have abs, if I stand like this — does that count? And then there’s the less normal stress: Does my infusion set look too weird? Can they see the dozens of pockmarks on my tummy? Is it okay to leave my insulin pump in the sun like this? What is my blood sugar? What about now? Is anyone looking at my taped-on Dexcom?
The last question I have an answer to at least: yes, definitely yes. The giant, Tegaderm-sealed Dexcom sensor is even more strange looking than the pump infusion set. In fact, wearing a tank top as I walked down the street today, a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk called out– “Hey baby, did you come to help me? Hey, what happened to your arm?”
I froze. “A continuous glucose monitor,” I spit out, knowing without context that was an incomprehensible answer even to someone who knew I was a diabetic. Somewhere between guilty and embarrassed, I kept walking.
A few minutes later, once I had a chance to get over myself, I decided that all these vain anxieties were definitely first-world problems, and I can handle those. I thrash about, wailing, “Woe is me! I have to wear ugly medical devices!” but really I suspect I just have a certain worry line, and if I wasn’t concerned about my Dexcom sensor, I would just fill right back up to that worry line with frets on my moles, my pudge, my cracked heels, my whatever.
And so I come to the conclusion, as I seem to do annually: screw it. It’s summertime, and I’m going outside. Did I mention that if you squint, I almost have abs?