I will be eating.” The whole row went quiet. The flight attendant quickly brought my snack. I ate, stabilized, and refused to entertain another word from those entitled parents. When the mom leaned in later to “educate” me about her son’s condition, I shut it down: “Lady,
I don’t care. I’ll manage my T1D. You manage your tantrum-prone prince. Fly private next time.” The silence was golden. That flight reminded me: You don’t owe anyone an apology for managing your health. Medical needs aren’t optional — other people’s discomfort is.
