Bumped into Mr. T, one of the architects, in the breakroom. He’s been on a “work imbalance” schedule the last few weeks, meaning he’s not laid off, but he’s only allowed to work a couple days a week.
“How are you feeling?” he said.
“Pretty good, actually.”
“So what was it you had? You had diabetes, wasn’t it?”
“Yea. I have no pancreas.”
“So you have this for the rest of your life, right?”
“Yup. No pancreas.”
“Oh, yea, you know, this woman who runs marathons with me wife, she got it. She has this little pump thing with her all the time.”
“An insulin pump, yea.”
“Yea, and she’s out there running marathons. So it’s manageable, I guess.”
“Yea,” I said, “it’s manageable. It’s just a pain in the ass.”
