Wordless Wednesday (plus words): Cup runneth over
This is the sharps container I’ve been using since October of last year. It is full. A full sharps container is not one of those “regular” things that happens in the life of a PWD, it’s more one of those unscheduled random occurrences that happen once in a blue moon. Fortunately, it’s usually no cause for concern; seal up, toss it in the trash, and find a suitable replacement.
It’s not really a genuine, certified, bona-fide sharps container in the true sense. In an earlier life, it was a container of Wawa Diet Iced Tea (if you live anywhere near Philly, or attended the ADA conference this year, you know all about Wawa, right?) which I acquired simply because I was thirsty. After the tea was gone, it spent some time in the garage recycle-bin awaiting its next life mission, but I pulled it out after my previous container (of the laundry-detergent variety) filled up and I needed a replacement.
But the story around this container is a bit stronger than most. My family and I had been visiting my ailing grandfather, and after our visit, we grabbed a bite to eat on the way home. Not long afterwards, my grandfather died. I honestly forget if that visit was the last time I saw him or if there was one more, but there’s still a memory, a certain sentiment, around that Wawa Iced Tea container that’s hard to part with.
By the time you read this, I’ll probably have let practicality overrule sentiment, sending it and its pointy contents to its final resting place in some nondescript landfill in Pennsylvania, where most New Jersey trash ends up. (With the late addition of 3-day-worn Sure-T patches and pushpins, it had been filling up more quickly and was starting to smell anyway). Its replacement: a blue Maxwell House coffee container, hopefully with a more pleasing residual aroma.
Still, it’s an odd feeling about this one. I don’t have the excitement of starting something new (sharps containers can be exciting, you know!), but I have the uncanny sorrow of losing a sentimental object that reminds me of an old friend.
This story isn’t some tale fabricated by a person with writers block. I really am a sappy and insane person with diabetes.