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Yesterday at CVS

Noah animatedly bounces ahead of me, the Tigger to my Pooh-Bear. "Mom, I need mouthwash", he says, brightly.

He grabs his brand as my hands are already full with a few womanly necessities (tampons?- check! razor blades?- TEN BUCKS!!).

Bounding ever further away, he rounds the corner by the pharmacy and stops at the display of the varied blood glucose meters on the shelf and pokes at the buttons.

I finally catch up, still grumbling to myself about the outrageous cost of personal hygiene products, and say to Noah jokingly, "looking to trade up"? We both laugh at our inside D-joke, as a man that was waiting nearby for his prescription interjects,"hey buddy- those aren't Game Boys" (chuckle, chuckle).

I saw a flash of red, and instantly calmed my instinct to snap, "thank you, but he knows that all too well". I smiled and bit my tongue.

Without missing a beat, Noah answered him with, "those are blood glucose monitors, and I'm type 1 diabetic- I have an insulin pump."

The man smiled kindly at Noah and replied "you are very lucky". (chuckle, chuckle again)

I honestly don't know why, but hearing him say that enraged me. LUCKY?! I wanted to scream, "sure, buddy!! If you think lucky is a fucking busted pancreas out of the blue at age six , lancing your fingers until they bleed 10 times a day, having to be woken out of a sound sleep to choke down a juice box, shots, long needles inserted into your ass for a site change every 2 days, cutting activities and recess and sleep -overs short because of site problems and crazy blood sugars, feeling like you're so different from everyone else even though everyone tells you you're not but you're 10 years old and no dummy, yeah if that's lucky, then he's the diabetic with the pot o' gold at the end of the fucking rainbow."

Instead, with my eyes full and shimmering in the fluorescence of CVS, I smiled in return and lied, "yes, he's very lucky"