I felt the familiar tug coming from my hip - the body part whose current turn it was to host to my infusion site. Ugh, fine. I scooted back in and reflexively reached for the cupholder in the console beside my seat, fully expecting to find that my pump had fallen out of my pocket and onto the console, as it has done so many times before. Shallow pockets = accidentally adventurous pump.
Nope.
Like Hansel and Gretyl and their bread crumbs, my pump has its own trail I can follow. The tubing made it look as though my pancreas might have been in front of the console, so I reached around blindly. My hands met nothing but carpeted upholstery and phone chargers.
Huh.
Trying to grab the tubing in an effort to follow it (or pull up my insulin pump from whatever place it had been napping) I was met with resistance. The tubing didn't want to lift.
What?
A little more investigation revealed its location, finally: it had not only fallen to the floor; it had wedged itself snugly underneath my seat. And I do mean SNUGLY. It took several seconds to dislodge it. Finally having it back in my paws, I gave it a stern look. "What the eff were you doing under there?"
Between this and the time last week when my tubing got tangled around my door handle (don't ask), I think my car might be trying to steal my insulin pump.
Jerk.
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