Some thing can only be understood by (tubed) pumpers. First to set the scene: an Sikh Indian festival with hundreds and hundreds of people all around me. I am wearing pocketless pants with a long pocketless dress, a long scarf wrapped around head and neck, along with a long purse strap crossing my body, and of course a chain with medical ID. Tucked into my bra is pump on end of a 43" tube.
First the pump falls out of bra and is hanging down close to the floor from inside my dress. There is no place for privacy, being in the middle of hundreds of Sikhs. I cannot just hold it in my hand as it would pull dress up. So, in the middle of throngs I had to crouch down, and push pump back up to bra level, reach down neckline and put back into bra. I have no idea of what folks thought this westener was doing.
Then, wanting to follow my friend to a food table, and leave my purse with her husband, I pulled off the purse. Of course, by this time the tubing was interwoven with purse strap, head scarf and chain. It took two Sikhs to get me untangled.
Now then, the insulin bolus needs…as I had no idea of what to expect, or when we would eat, I had taken no bolus. All of a sudden, I was told to put out both hands together. A very sweet flour-like huge mixture was put into my hands. No way to do a bolus until after I had eaten all of it. It went downhill from there, wanted to try everything, and as it was not all at one time, was afraid that if I tried to keep up with an unknown carb count, I would be stacking. Sometimes life interferes with diabetes care…but enjoyed it.