You know who they are. You know what they do. You know they are going to say something they have no business saying.

The thing is, they don’t know who they are. They don’t know what they do. They don’t know they are going to say something they have no business saying.

They are the Diabetes Nazis. And sooner or later, one of them is going to figuratively stop you in the street and utter the frightening diabetes equivalent of “Your papers, please.”

Recently, it was my turn to face the sudden interrogation of a D-Nazi, and although taken somewhat by surprise, I kept my cool and handled the situation without creating a scene. My first inclination was toward diplomacy, with reliance on undeniable diabetic truths and 26 years of my own first-hand diabetes experience to begin an intelligent discussion. But while even the most rabid D-Nazis may be entitled to their own opinions, many of them believe they are entitled to their own facts, too, and they are not about to let valid, correct information ruin their furtive schemes to show someone up in the presence of an audience.

In hindsight, I almost wish I had created the scene, and said exactly what I was thinking.

In many walks of life, people exist who see themselves as the arbiters of right and wrong, good and bad, healthy and unhealthy, for issues having to do with others. They can be well-meaning, expressing thoughts that they honestly believe are in the best interest of others. They come up short, though, by failing to understand that they aren’t the only people on Earth capable of caring for themselves.

All too often, they mangle reality by mixing third-hand versions of heavily embellished tales of gossip with their own unfounded and confounded assumptions, and then draw an ugly conclusion so far off the mark that it needs a GPS to find even a scintilla of sense and dignity. For them, it becomes truth, and they belch it loudly in a shameless display of ignorant preaching for all within earshot to smell. It is unpleasant in the extreme.

Interestingly, and almost laughably so, some of them demonstrate an appalling inability to mind even their own interests as they tend so readily to those of other people. This particular sort of D-Nazi exhibits an inexplicable infatuation with entrapping the diabetic in an embarrassing game of “gotcha.” Such was my experience, and I sensed that becoming ensnared in the silly trap is precisely what would satisfy my D-Nazi’s lifelong, fruitless yearning for esteem.

Regardless, the only way the Diabetes Nazi could have ruined my day was if I had allowed that to happen. An often overlooked, undeniable diabetes truth holds that doctors, CDEs, lab techs, insurance company reps, and D-Nazis are only as powerful as the person with diabetes allows them to be. I have the power to find a new doctor. I have to power to argue intelligently over coverage issues. I have the power to know when a lab test may need to be re-done.

And I also have the power to ignore a misinformed fool with bad intentions.

No way am I going to let myself be offended by a Diabetes Nazi mired in a senseless, ill-tempered game of “gotcha.” That would be a lot of power over me to simply give to a pitiful, ignorant, and small person.