Camp was great for so many reasons.

It was also a super resource for pump information.

Everyone at Slipstream was so open and honest about their experiences, their preferences and all the inbetweens. I felt so fortunate to have such candor from my fellow campers and Type 1 Warriors. And I came home (pretty much) decided on what pump I planned to pick.

Thankfully, given that camp was at the end of September, I still had some time to make up my find…for sure.

I had one more HbA1C to complete, at the end of November, before all of my pump paperwork could be submitted.

Plenty of time…

Let’s fast forward a bit. Not much. About 3 weeks post-camp, to October 26, 2018 – they day that will forever go down in my history as the day EVERYTHING changed.

The Clinic called, “we have your pump start date,” they said. And I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I managed to wrangle my emotions and remain calm enough to jot down the details and dates being delivered through the phone.

It was an unexpected call. I was both overjoyed and overwhelmed.

You see, I had myself fully prepared for the new year. New year, new pump…it was a mentally easy thing to pair up and it gave me something to look forward to. And now all those plans were changing. Everything had now been pushed forward. Like, way the fuck forward.

I now had one month to get my shit together.

One month to make my peace with the whole “pump situation,” one month to order gear (I like all my stuff organized and gussied up, so I had to order up a new pump/Diabetes kit and some skins for the PDM that I would soon be carrying everywhere), one month left of torture via MDI and needle phobia.

No more fucking panic attacks before an injection.

No more fucking freak outs; no more tears and throwing syringes/pens.

No more injections, 6 or more a day depending…

No more Lantus at 8 pm, each and every single day.

No more running out of the room to take my those gosh darn needles.

No more delayed family meals because of an injection induced panic attack.

No more bathroom trips to take a needle for movie snacks at the theatre (that one comes via the kiddo).

NO. FUCKING. MORE. BULL. SHIT.

One month!

Gah, now I seriously had to make a firm decision.

What pump was right for me? Everyone has an opinion. I asked all of my pump-wearing pals and Diabuddies. I Googled. I forum-ed…is that a thing? (I’m making it a thing.) I watched videos. I Googled some more.

In the end, I realized, you can overdo it. And I may have overdone it, because I suddenly felt terribly lost. And dreadfully unsure.

So. I paused. And I revisited my last attempt at this pump thing.

What was I thinking then?

And then I had a good honest chat with myself. And I checked in with my gut.

What am I thinking NOW?

And just like that I had my decision: Omnipod.

That day was a jam-packed one (yes, this all took place on that sacred day!) and it ended with me slapping on a “Practice Pod.” It was given to me, at camp, by an Omnipod rep. I figured I might as well test out what it would feel like to have a pod on, to wear another Diabetes device.

And there it stayed for a full 72-hours. And it wasn’t an issue at all. I put the pod (that little guy up there, it’s the thing that will house and deliver my insulin) in a spot I thought would be the most bothersome.

My logic: if I could handle it there, anywhere else would be smooth sailing.

So that little guy hung out on my stomach for 3 whole days. And those days flew by…

As did the next 25…

To the first of my two pump start classes.

To the beginning of the end of my injection days.

To the time when freedom prevailed.

**If you happen to be on Instagram, please feel free to follow me at @rebaredmond.**