In order to bring my emergency stash of juice boxes and snacks into Lolla (even with my handy dandy sensor, I don’t go anywhere without my stash), I need a doctor’s note indicating that I have “special medical dietary restrictions.” I guess telling them that I am diabetic, lifting up my shirt to reveal tubing filled with insulin that stretches from my belly to a machine on my hip, and flashing my medical alert bracelet, meter and strips isn’t enough. It’s going to be fun trying to chase down my endocrinologist today, but avoiding a snag getting into the concert, and the possibility of passing out and being trampled makes it worth it.