Haste Makes Waste (of Pods)

Have you ever been in such a hurry to do something within a certain period of time that it works to your disadvantage?

I guess there’s a reason why they say haste makes waste…

…especially when haste results in accidentally whacking your insulin pump off your arm.

I was reminded that this can happen the other day when I had my friend over for some socially distant hang time. Just because we had to stay six feet apart during her whole visit didn’t mean that I had to be a bad host, though, and I was in a rush to bring some Goldfish for us to snack on while we sat in the sun outside. I flitted about the kitchen, grabbing the bag, a plate, and some napkins to bring out with me. When I went to open the sliding door that would take me from the kitchen to the porch, I gave myself just enough room for my body to slip through it sideways.

I should’ve walked through the opening slowly; rather, I dashed through it like I was about to cross the finishing line of a race – and my pod was suddenly, a bit violently, ripped off my arm in the process.

“ArrrrrRRRRRRRggggHHHH!” (I think that’s a pretty good approximation of the sound that I made when it happened.)

Green Yellow Paint Strokes Birthday Instagram Post
I wish I had a picture of how absurd it looked to have my pod dangling from my arm; alas, taking photos wasn’t a priority of mine in this situation.

My friend, alarmed by my animalistic emanation, asked if I was okay. I came to my senses and calmly explained that I’d just knocked my pod off my arm, and she looked on in horror as she saw it dangling by an adhesive’s thread on the site.

“Doesn’t that hurt?!” she asked in dismay.

I reassured her that no, while the actual sensation of the pod ripping off my skin didn’t hurt, it definitely stung that I was now forced to replace it even though it had only been in use for less than a full day. It sucks when I can’t use my supplies to their fullest extent because each time something like this happens, there’s a dollar amount attached to what I’m wasting, and what’s worse is that I can’t blame it on anyone or anything except myself.

Ah, well…a fresh pod was applied and no harm was done in the end. But next time I try to enter or exit that sliding door, you can bet I’ll be a lot more careful when I do so.

Memory Monday: The Shattered Insulin Vial

One Monday per month, I’ll take a trip down memory lane and reflect on how much my diabetes thoughts, feelings, and experiences have unfolded over the years. Today, I remember…

…the insulin vial that my mother and I accidentally broke in the bathroom of a restaurant, many years ago. R.I.P., tiny vial of Humalog.

This goes back to the days of having to scurry off to the restroom soon after ordering our meals to check blood sugars and inject insulin. And it was a pain. We wanted to be considerate of other diners around us in the restaurant, so doing our diabetes things at the table wasn’t an option. That left us with the most logical choice, the bathroom.

On the night of the broken vial, we were having dinner at a local restaurant. Once our dinner orders were placed, we headed off to complete our routine. And it went just as expected: We knew our blood sugar levels and did the mental math necessary for figuring out our insulin intakes. If memory serves correctly, I was still at an age where I wasn’t totally comfortable with injecting myself yet and would ask my parents to help me whenever we were in a public place (I felt better about self-injecting at home, my literal comfort zone). So my mom ushered me into a stall and went about filling her syringe, then mine. Soon after she stuck me with the needle, it happened…the vial fell. I don’t know if it was my hand or her elbow that knocked it off from its perch, but something caused it to tumble down to meet its end.

Capture

 

It was a dramatic moment. If a slo-mo camera had captured the ordeal, I’m sure it would’ve shown my mother and I donning identical, horrified expressions as the vial smashed into smithereens on the tiled bathroom floor.

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t the end of the world; after all, we’d just taken our shots before the incident, and the vial wasn’t completely full. But it was just full enough that we were upset about all the wasted insulin that formed a small puddle on the floor.

I remember my mom gingerly picking up the pieces of the fractured vial and disposing of them, sighing as she went about the task. That whole experience resulted in a few things. 1) We made sure to get a vial protector soon after it happened to help cushion future insulin vials that were accidentally dropped and 2) We got insulin pens a bit further down the road, which proved to be much more durable and portable than vials. In fact, they made it so we could do injections at the dinner table, in the car, and just about anywhere with ease and discretion.

But this incident remains etched in my memory because it instilled always being careful with my diabetes supplies from that moment on. All of my diabetes stuff is expensive and extremely precious because of what it does for me, my mom, and millions of other people on a daily basis – it’s got to be treated carefully, always.