“This is the flight crew. We’re getting ready for take off now. I need everyone in their seats or the flight will be delayedagain.”
I gave Efficient Flight Crew Lady a one-finger salute from behind the locked door as I finally managed to get a drop of blood onto the reader and got a result. I adjusted my insulin dose and injected it then went to open the door.
“Can I search your bag please, miss?” the flight attendant asked sharply. Her voice was low but still several heads turned in our direction. God knows what she thought I was doing in there.
“Of course,” I muttered, handing over my bag and letting her rifle through it. She found the injection kit, took one look at all the paraphernalia and then frowned at me.
“Please take your seat. I’ll return the bag in a moment,” she told me as she stepped back to speak to an older woman. By the time I made it back to my seat a little huddle of flight attendants had formed around my bag, thankfully now away from the other passengers. I heard some sharp words exchanged and then Efficient Flight Crew Lady hustled back to me at top speed, her cheeks flushed and her eyes apologetic.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to me as she leaned over to return my bag. “It’s just we have to be careful.”
“Of course,” I told her with a forced smile.
“Do you need anything?” she asked, looking down at me with concern.
“Honestly I’m fine,” I told her. We were drawing more looks from fellow passengers now and I was very ready for this encounter to be over with. “I just need to eat the sandwich in my bag . . . sort ofnow, if that’s ok.”
“Right, yes . . . right,” she muttered, shoving my bag at me and biting her lip. “Ring the bell if you need anything.”
I nodded and gave her a closed lip smile, unwrapping my sandwich so she’d take the hint and leave. She gave me one last concerned look before bustling off to the front of the plane.
“You okay?” the big guy next to me asked, and I flinched in my seat.
“Uh, yeah,” I muttered, taking a bite out of my sandwich.
“Look, my sister’s diabetic. I know it can be tough sorting your insulin when you’re travelling. If you need anything or - ”
“Thanks, I’m fine,” I snapped, cutting him off and we lapsed into uncomfortable silence. “Shit, sorry,” I told him. “I just haven’t eaten in a while and it makes me a little bitchy.”
“It’s ok,” he said. I glanced up at him and he smiled at me. He was really tall, heavy set and fair - like a big, attractive, blonde bear, with kind eyes. “Sienna hates everyone making a fuss as well. I’m used to bitchy. She once stabbed me with her lancet when I was pissing her off.” He winced. “I do not like needles. I don’t know how you guys do that crap every day.”
“Yeah, well I’m hoping I won’t have to get stabbed quite so often soon. There’s this new system – “
“Freestyle Libra?”
“Yeah, does your sister . . .?”
He nodded. “She’s been using it for a couple of months now. It’s pretty cool.”
So we got into a discussion about Freestyle Libra, then about how Sienna was diagnosed, how I was diagnosed - the whole shebang.
“You realize the entire plane thinks I’m a druggie or something,” I grumbled. I’d still been drawing a few suspicious looks over the last hour that we’d been talking.
He chuckled. “Okay, well I’ll throw out a few badass vibes and people will assume I’m your dealer, or maybe even your pimp. Give them something toreallytalk about.”
I laughed. “Your face doesn’t say badass,” I told him. “It says: ‘friendly bear, gives good hugs.’“
His mouth turned down. “Friendlysexybear, right?”
“Uh . . .” I bit my lip to hold in another giggle.
He rolled his eyes. “And here I thought I was chatting you up. I don’t think “friendly bear” was the vibe I was going for.”
“Youarea sexy bear,” I told him. “Grr.” I made a little clawing motion with my free hand and he chuckled.
“Now you’re just trying to make me feel better,” he muttered, giving me wounded eyes. I laughed as he wiped a fake tear away.
“Don’t tickle my giblets mate,” I said. “You can’t fool me – bet you’ve got birds coming out of your ears at home.”
