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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.
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“Real people sick” is easy

No matter what, he keeps on smiling!

My little boy is sick.  Real people sick.  (Of course he’s “real people sick.”  That’s the only kind of sick that most people, people without D, get.)

I got the call to pick him up from day-care yesterday and take him to the pediatrician.  It seems his right ear was clogged up with wax and some stuff was oozing from his eyes.  I thought it was just a cool trick, but his teacher was worried and asked me to bring him home.  The doctor said it’s a pretty normal infection, prescribed some antibiotics, and said he’d be fine tomorrow.

This didn’t surprise me.   Baby Z spends hours in day-care putting everything he can reach in his mouth.  Everything.  I’m sure other kids in the same room probably do the same thing.  It’s the environment and it happens.  This doesn’t bother me, though.  I’m all in favor of my kids getting sick when they’re young.  My wife and I believe it builds up their immune system and makes them more resilient.  The children we’ve seen whose mothers isolate them from the world and bathe in Purell every 15 minutes are the ones who catch colds the most.  But for my own kids, as long as their immune system doesn’t get so out-of-control that it starts Fighting Islets, I see nothing wrong with giving it a workout every now and then.  (By the way, If I ever release a rock CD filled with diabetes-related music, I’m going to call it Fighting Islets).

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Just for you

Holiday family meals always make me feel like I’m a contestant on The Newlywed Game. We laugh. We argue. Someone may inadvertently reveal a personal secret about another. Someone may get upset, another betrayed, yet another embarrassed.

But none of that matters. Because by the time the delicious(-looking) dessert is served, we’re up to the twenty-five point bonus question, worth twenty-five points, that makes everything that was said during the main course of the meal irrelevant. And, of course, my mother/grandmother/aunt/uncle presents me with the Grand Sugar-free Dessert, which they proudly exclaim, they prepared “just for you.”

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Remembering Aunt Edythe

This is Aunt Edythe's profile pic on Facebook. I can't imagine what she did on there.

My Great-aunt Edythe passed away early Sunday morning. She was ninety-six.

For as long as I’d been around to know and remember her, she lived a care-free life. Through her eyes, the world was a good place, and people were, for the most-part, well-intentioned.

No, she wasn’t delusional or oblivious. Until the very end, she was always well-aware of what goes on in the world: war, famine, disease, and so on. I’m sure that, years ago with three young children, the chaos in her home was a microcosm of the world around us. But she, like her four siblings, didn’t dwell on it and didn’t let it occupy her.

She chose to live in a simpler time; a time free of modern distractions; somewhat reminiscent of an early-era TV sitcom. After her children had grown and moved on, and after her husband had passed, she had borders living in her house – for financial support as well as companionship. Usually, they were college students who couldn’t afford a place of their own in the Connecticut city where she lived. Although stern with her old-fashioned rules, she was trusting. Enough so that it caused others in the family, those of us in a younger generation who grew up in a less idealist world, some concern.

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