Oh the joys of the TSA

This past weekend, I took my first trip to meet friends from the DOC, Diabetes Online Community. Tomorrow’s blog will dive into the amazingness of the weekend, but today, I’m blowing off some steam. While this weekend was not my first time flying with diabetes, it was my first time flying with an insulin pump and a continuous glucose monitor. I’d done some research on my devices, followed by some blog reading from other DOCers who travel regularly, so I thought I was prepared. But as it turns out, I wasn’t.

My journey started in Huntsville as I was preparing to leave for my connecting flight in Chicago. Most of you have never experienced the joy of the Huntsville airport, so let me describe a couple of things. For starters, it’s not a large airport. There’s one security line, one metal detector and one terminal. But even still, we have a lot of travel in and out of the area because of Cummings Research Park and Redstone Arsenal. I was prepared to set off the metal detector, and I was prepared to be swabbed. But I wasn’t prepared for a pat down in front of everyone traveling through the airport that day. The security area in Huntsville is behind a giant, glass partition that anyone in the airport can see. It divides the terminal from the waiting area, so literally, everyone can see security. I walked through the detector letting the TSA agent know I had a pump and CGM.

“Beeeeeeep.”

“Ma’am, could you step over here?”

“Sure,” I said, thinking, here we go.

So I walked into a glass box (yes, a rectangular box made of glass in the middle of the room, which means I don’t really get the point of it) and I waited. A woman came over and we went through the motions of me holding my pump in both hands, and then her swabbing my hands. Then she asked me to stand on the mat with two yellow feet patterns. She informed me I was going to get a pat down.

“Excuse me?” I asked. “Why do I need a pat down?”

“Because you haven’t been cleared because you set off the metal detector,” she answered.

“Yes, I understand that, but it was because of my insulin pump which you just swabbed.”

“Yes, but I still need to do a pat down.”

“OK, so let me get this straight. You’re going to pat me down BECAUSE I have diabetes and wear an insulin pump.”

“No, I’m going to pat you down because you set off the metal detector.”

“BECAUSE I am diabetic and wear an insulin pump.”

I really wanted to argue my position with the TSA agent. I wanted her to understand this wasn’t necessary, and I wanted her to know I was being singled out and it wasn’t right. BUT I also understand that TSA agents have an ungodly amount of power and if I stated my point for long enough, I’d either miss my plane or be blacklisted from flying — and no more #Simonpalooza. So I let her pat me down.

As I stood there, with my arms outstretched being searched for “weapons” like a common criminal, people moved through the security line with ease headed to their respective gates. I could feel people looking at me and staring. I kept thinking, please don’t let anyone I know walk by. As if I were reliving the bracelet day, I felt the tears begin to well up in my eyes. It was a mixture of anger and sadness laced with embarrassment and humiliation.

When she was finished and didn’t find anything other than an insulin pump (imagine that), I grabbed my belongings in a bit of haste coupled with attitude and headed to my gate. So there it was. My very first pat down. I can’t say I’m a fan. But surprisingly, my CGM was a non-issue. But fast forward to leaving Kansas City, and suddenly, my CGM was an issue. On this round, I decided to take off the clip to my insulin pump on the off chance I could make it through the metal detector sans beep. No such luck.

“Beeeeeeep.”

“Ma’am, will you step over here?” Asked the TSA agent. “What’s in your pockets?”

“I have two medical devices, an insulin pump and a continuous glucose monitor,.” I said, pulling them both out for her to see. She picks up my CGM receiver and looks it over.

“What is this?”

“It’s a continuous glucose monitor. It’s a wireless device that transmits my blood sugar through a sensor in my leg.”

“It’s going to have to go through the xray machine,” she says and starts to walk away.

“No, it can’t,” I explain. “It’s a wireless device, and it’s not recommended.”

<<Enter the hateful diabetic TSA agent/lecturer.>>

“What is this?” He grumbles.

So I patiently explain. Again.

“It can go through,” he says cooly.”

“No sir, it can’t. It’s the same as my pump. It’s not recommended by the manufacturer.” I then take my CGM and rub it in my hands. “Here, you can swab me, that’s what I do when I fly.”

He then switches his weight to his right leg and sticks out is left hip so I can see his Medtronic pump. “Look, I have the same thing, and it’s fine. I do this all day, every day, and it’s safe.”

“Sir,” I begin, “I understand that. But this is not the same thing as an insulin pump, and besides, my pump is a different brand than yours. Both pieces of equipment cost several thousands of dollars. It’s not recommended by the manufacturers that either go through x rays or scanners, and you can’t replace them if something happens. So I would like to be swabbed please.”

The man continues to stand there and argue with me, actually argue with me. I didn’t know what else to say or to do. I have friends that sometimes send theirs through without a problem, but I’ve also read accounts online where the waves can mess up certain pieces of equipment. For me, it’s just not a chance I’m willing to take. When the man realizes I’m not backing down, he lets me go stand on the mat.

So I stand there. Again. Waiting to be violated by another female TSA agent. I’m so angry at this point so I figure it’s best to keep my mouth shut if I’d like to get home. Little did I know, the real fun was just beginning.

The woman begins the pat down when her hand gets to my left leg where my CGM sensor is. She asks, “Ma’am, what’s that in your pocket?” (I’m wearing jeans).

“It’s not in my pocket. It’s in my leg. And it’s the sensor to my continuous glucose monitor,” I explain.

“Well that’s going to have to come out.”

I halfway laugh and say, “it can’t come out, it’s physically in my leg, as in a canula is in my leg.”

“Well that’s not going to work,” she says.

“Ma’am, I can’t take it out. Part of it is physically under my skin.”

(For the record, I am not making up what is about to happen. It was real, and I will be writing a letter to the TSA about it.)

She takes her blue, latex-covered finger and begins poking my sensor with decent force.

I jerk my leg back and say, “Ma’am, please don’t poke it. It’s in my leg, and that hurts.”

She does it again.

“Ma’am,” I say fairly loudly, “that is inserted into my leg using a needle, please stop doing that.”

At that point, several people just inside the gate turn around and start watching. Then the hateful diabetic TSA guy walks over and asks what’s going on. She tells him I have something in my leg and I said it can’t come out.

“No, that’s part of it,” he says. She looks at him with doubt. “No, it is. It’s OK.”

That was the only time I remotely liked the mean-spirited TSA dude. It only lasted a brief moment because he handed me back my receiver and said, “I did it your way this time, but next time, it will go through the x ray machine. One day, this will set it off.”

What he was talking about setting off, I don’t know. But I looked straight ahead and just nodded my head. I didn’t make eye contact, just nodded.

He said, “I do this all day, every day, and I can promise you, it’s fine.”

That was it, I was done. My patience can only go so far.

“No sir, you can’t promise me that,” I said assertively, but calmly. “This is technology, a very expensive piece of technology. And so is this, I said pulling out my pump. Both manufacturers warn that exposure to certain x ray devices and other radioactive waves can be damaging to the equipment. I fly frequently, so I’m not taking my chances. You cannot replace the equipment if something happens to it, so I will always opt for a swab. And until TSA agents are properly educated on medical devices, I will apparently always opt for a pat down as well.”

He looked at me and did this halfway laugh, you know, the arrogant kind that only serves the point of belittling the other person. I was furious. But I was proud of myself. I didn’t cause a fuss. I didn’t raise my voice, and I feel like I educated at least one woman (the pat down lady). I wasn’t trying to be difficult, but I don’t appreciate being talked down to, being badgered or being treated like a terrorist. I will stand up for myself every time.

So I’m hoping the redraft of this post which I am planning to mail to the national TSA office doesn’t get me black listed from all flights. But I’m not going to sugarcoat anything. I have a major problem with the TSA. I appreciate the work they do to keep me safe, but I have a hard time believing more can’t be done to accommodate people like me. I have friends with metal plates in their legs, friends with screws in their arms and friends with other medical devices non-D-related. They all seem to have the same trouble I do with TSA. Plus, I read this article by a journalist I had the privilege of meeting a couple of years ago in D.C. This story changed my perspective and opinion of the TSA a bit, and it will yours, too.

So next time, I’ll print off documents from the Animas and Dexcom websites, and I’ll be prepared for a pat down. I think it’s bogus, and I am against it, but I will be prepared nonetheless.