Last night, as I calmly sat at work at the start of my night shift, I sat straight up in a panic.

Flustered, I opened a colorful zippered pouch to search for the source of my anxiety- I grasped a small, rubber encased vial, pulled it out, and held it up to the light.

Squinting, my pulse increased as I saw what I already knew would be true – I was out of insulin.

I’m a type 1 diabetic, and a working travel nurse far away from home.

It was only 4 years ago that I was diagnosed as a type 1 diabetic – actually LADA. Look it up if you please, but basically my body attacked itself, and now I don’t make insulin.

It’s mid day on a Thursday. I’ve awakened every 2 hours, waiting for my endocrinologist office to open – they are closed tomorrow. If I can’t make this happen, I’ll have to drive back home, get insulin, returning after a missed shift of work.

I speak to the doctors office. I had left a message with the service last night, and an urgent message on the patient portal, but this is too urgent to wait on.

I speak to someone at the doctors office. It takes two people to get the prescription to electronically send to the pharmacy closest to the town I’m working at.

I immediately called the pharmacy, making sure they have all my correct insurance and contact information.

For two hours, I wait. I have another 12 hour shift tonight…but I have to have insulin.

I get a text informing me that my insulin is here. I immediately get in my car, and drive to pick it up.

I’m back at my hotel, and the precious, full vial is now protected by the rubber sleeve – one dropped and shattered bottle of insulin, and I learned never to be without it. It’s tucked into my “pancreas” – the nickname for the colorful bag that contains my continuous glucose monitor receiver, my insulin pump monitor, lancet device, alcohol swabs, and needles.

I went 4 decades without even thinking twice about what I ate or drank, leaving my house with a wallet and a set of keys.

Ten years ago, with an incorrect type 2 diabetes diagnosis, my life suddenly turned into total accountability- counting every single carb I ate or drank.

Eight years ago, I had gone from overweight and sedentary, to regular, purposeful exercise.

Four years ago, and now I have to check myself before I go anywhere. My “pancreas” must be stocked and at my side. I have to have fast acting carbs on my person at all times. I have juice pouches in every vehicle I drive.

All of these things are in place to help me manage this diagnosis the best that I can.

It’s all moot, though, without that little glass bottle.

I have good insurance, and thankfully, today’s emergency prescription fill was only $25 for the vial. I have paid as much as $300 for it – with another insurance carrier.

At ease, I prepare to rest. My mother and close friends call and make sure that I’ve gotten my insulin. I sigh as they do, relieved that this very real worry is assuaged.

Four years.

Seems like a lifetime ago.