When Diabetes Doesn’t Give You a Choice

Tonight hit me hard. Diabetes has a way of doing that—not just once in a while, but over and over again. It isn’t just a surgery or a one-time event you move past. It’s daily. Hourly. Sometimes minute by minute. And tonight was another reminder of how much weight comes with every decision, every device, every unknown.

My daughter has been on Omnipod for the last two years. Before that, she used the t:slim X2 pump. We decided to transition back to the t:slim because she’s been dealing with infection after infection from Omnipod sites—so many that antibiotics aren’t an option for a while. This wasn’t about preference or convenience—it was about her health.

So, I did what any parent does: I called the endocrinology team, called Tandem, even tackled all of the insurance rigamarole, got everything lined up, and gathered the supplies for her old pump. I thought we were all set.

But then reality hit.

As I was entering her carb ratios (how much insulin she needs for a certain amount of carbs) and her correction factors (how much insulin to bring down a high blood sugar), it hit me—I couldn’t even enter her G7 information. The pump only gave me the option for the G6. A quick Google search confirmed my fear.

I logged onto Tandem’s site, and there it was in black and white. Her warranty had expired back in June. And underneath that? No software updates available. They had mentioned the warranty date before, but they hadn’t told me the pump wouldn’t work with the G7. That little detail would’ve made a huge difference. Instead, we found out in the middle of trying to set everything up—right before bedtime—while my daughter still needed a pump.

That left us with a giant question mark. We’re basically being funneled into an upgrade or a new device, and I feel stuck. These pumps come with four-year warranties. Four years is a long time to be stuck with something if it doesn’t work for my daughter. What if she hates the tubing? What if she doesn’t adapt? What if it just makes everything harder?

And it’s not as simple as “just trying something out.” Once you commit, you’re committed. On top of that, we’re an Android family—and some of the newer tech requires an iPhone. So now I was weighing not just medical equipment, but the cost of a whole new phone, too. At 11 p.m., it felt like too much.

My daughter already hates tubing and fanny packs. Tubeless gave her freedom, and she loved that. The thought of taking that away from her broke my heart. I didn’t want to force her into something long-term without knowing how she’d feel living with it every day.

On top of that, we just filled our G7 prescription. Now, we’ll probably have to go back to the G6 for a while, and honestly, it feels like a step backward. That two-hour warm-up after being spoiled with a 25-minute one? Brutal. And with stock issues popping up for G6 sensors, I already saw another wave of frustration ahead.

And all of this was happening at our kitchen table—a table overflowing with every diabetic supply known to man. Trash. Adhesive remover wipes. Baby dolls shoved between boxes of infusion sets. Books stacked sideways. Cords and tubing stretched out across the wood. Toys scattered in the mix. Half-eaten cucumber at the end of the table. Leftover dinner plates with streaks of steak and salad dressing. The sharp tang of adhesive remover and insulin. Fanny packs that don’t fit, tossed on top of it all like a reminder of everything we’ve tried and everything that doesn’t work.

Around me, life went on like normal. The kids were laughing and playing while half getting ready for bed. Brett kept asking me questions, and I just sat there, frozen. Two pumps were beeping back and forth, Dexcom notifications going off, all blending into the background like a reminder that diabetes doesn’t take a break.

It was a mess of medical chaos tangled up with everyday life. I was overstimulated and in tears. Eventually, I just walked away. I left it all for tomorrow because I simply couldn’t bring myself to muddle through anymore tonight.

But tomorrow, I’ll pick up the phone and start making calls. Because what else can I do?