Priming My Tubing
If it is not grossly apparent, I tend to avoid specific blog posts about living with type 1 diabetes. There is an incredible community of bloggers that write about the physical and emotional highs and lows of living with T1D specifically (that have helped me through a lot of difficult times), but I prefer to write about it in a less direct manner–mostly because I personally balance a lot of chronic illness, and like to show you how it is woven into my daily experience (and because sometimes, T1D needs to give me a break, even if it means simply not showing up as every blog post topic).
Anyhow, here we are. I’m diving in a bit here with a post about life and a bit of T1D this week.
My entrepreneurship business basics class meets in one of our business school buildings on Mondays and Wednesdays from 8:30am-10am. While I could write endlessly about my deep-seated disagreements with the self-centered and sexist nature of the professor (which could be a 100 post-long series), when we were discussing start-up marketing yesterday, the professor casually said the following (to the best of my memory):
“When you head to market with a new product, a new service, a new solution that has true value for each of your future adopters, you better prime your tubing. Because once you’re out there, there’s really no turning back.”
Prime my tubing, you say? Well, dang. Isn’t that just perfectly worded.
For those who may not know, I’ve been working on a new entrepreneurial venture for the last six-or-so months that promises to create big change in chronic medical condition management [unfortunately, due to legal concerns, can’t reveal the details or specifics yet, but stay with me!] I have the fortune (though I wouldn’t phrase it as such very often) of being a member of our target market and I can promise you, your voices have been and will continue to be heard throughout our development and roll-out.
Anyhow, it led me to take the class with the man who told me to prime my tubing. Here I am, two days away from my first big pitch where we have a chance at a $10,000 grant to continue developing our solution. My life with chronic illness is central to the pitch–and has been extraordinarily well-received in practice pitch sessions. The practice judges expect that we’ll be pushed through to the finals at the end of the afternoon.
Tonight, I’ll prime my tubing. The insulin will flow slowly through, I’ll check for air bubbles, I’ll pierce my skin, and hope my extremely allergic skin is effectively guarded by the Skin Tac I placed under the site.
Tonight, I’ll prime my tubing. I’ll run through my pitch slide deck for, what must be, the hundredth time to ensure I’ve proven our solution and our venture to the judges. I’ll try to heed the practice judges requests not to “over-practice my story, because the simple, unrehearsed presentation is what makes it.” I’ll try to keep it all together when I point out all my diabetes technology to a huge auditorium so people can begin to understand life with chronic illness.
I’ll always prime my tubing. As a celiac, I’m constantly preparing for the next meal. As a diabetic, well, you get it. As a future entrepreneur, I’ll always prepare myself for the next great opportunity to prove myself and my solution. As a young woman who just faced sexism in the hiring process for an engineering position (which, indeed, I did not get), I’ll continue to prime my personal tubing with all of my strengths and know that someday, women will not face this archaic problem.
For now, I look forward to sharing more of my venture with all of you. I know I’ll feel your virtual support and presence Thursday night at 5PM EST when my chronic illness life takes the spotlight, with my tube fully primed.
Take it easy, but TAKE IT.