The Cyborg and the Power Outage

As a Type 1 Diabetic, I am completely dependent on modern technology to survive. I use a continuous glucose monitor to track my blood sugar and an insulin pump to keep my levels in range. These medical devices are an extension of my body, a part of my life that requires constant care and maintenance, not to mention electricity. So when the power goes out during a snowstorm in the mountains, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if it never came back on again.

A fridge without electricity can only keep insulin cold for so long. The vial would freeze if I tried to pack it in the snow outside. A power bank can only charge so many devices before it needs to be charged itself. I can’t eat without insulin. I can’t keep myself alive without electricity. Candle light can’t keep me warm in the winter, and glucose monitors can’t warn me of high or low blood sugars if my phone is dead.

My home in rural Vermont means everything to me. But living in the mountains often contradicts the needs of a cyborg body. This is the house I grew up in. This is the kitchen I learned to walk and talk in. This is where I learned to start a gas stove with a lighter and make pancakes from scratch. This is where I learned how to say hello, how to welcome friends and family into my home. This is where I learned how to love. Everything important in my life can be traced back to this room. I was sitting on these stairs when I manually tested my blood sugar for the first time. The glucometer just read “HIGH” again and again and again. I should have died at 20. But I didn’t.

My body is as fragile as the glass vials that hold my insulin. It’s as fragile as my phone’s circuit board, as fragile as my pump’s wireless connection. But the traces my life has left on the landscape will live on through my home and the mountains that surround it. If the power never came back on, I’d go for long walks in the snow. I’d make breakfast in the mornings and light candles in the evenings. I’d watch the blue light of my devices fade to black. I’d haunt the stairs and watch the flame until the wax ran out. I’d finally learn how to say goodbye and try to be ok with that.