As we were going through security last night all of a sudden my ears pricked up and my pancreas twitched. Someone uttered the words “but I’m a diabetic and I need it”. I was on the verge of pulling out my lycra superhero outfit and transforming into “Diabetic girl” to run to the assistance of a fellow pancreatite. Then two things stopped me. Firstly, it was -8 in Liverpool last night and there’s no way the lycra would go over my tshirt, jumper, jumper, fleece combo without unsightly bulges and a significant risk of stretching beyond repair. Secondly though, when I looked, the bloke was trying to bring in a 3 litre bottle of Coke in case he had a hypo.
I was expecting the security guard to reply with an educated and interested response along the lines of “how fascinating kind sir, you know I’ve been meaning to ask a diabetic for a while…do you find an increased overnight basal to be the answer to dawn phenomenon or is the secret in the evening meal bolus/carb ratio?” Shockingly dear readers what he actually said was “sorry mate, it’s not comin’ in”.
Regular readers will know I’m not shy about the whole diabetes thing and have been known to fight my corner over the years to get what’s needed. However, there’s always a risk of wearing out the lycra superhero suit so I like to pick my fights rather than engage in every battle I see. While my diabetic peer was unsuccessfully pleading his case I couldn’t help but wonder who would consider a 3 litre bottle of Coke the most appropriate hypo treatment to take to a gig. Guns, knives and petrol bombs are mildly disapproved of on the door, but food and drink are an absolute, definite, big fat no. They undermine the money making machine and as such will not be tolerated.
I’d wandered through security completely unnoticed with a couple of tubes of fruit pastilles in my pocket. I don’t see the point in picking a fight with a disinterested security guard whilst trying to convert him to the diabetes cause. If stopped I’d have had the argument about medical necessity etc and escalated up the management chain but I’m not going to walk in like a sugar coated suicide bomber, flaunting my sweet contraband for the world to question me about.
So, the lycra goes back in the cupboard for another day and I’m left to ponder why some people make life so difficult for themselves.