Well, this is a surprise. It seems I owe my Freestyle Lite an apology. I would have sworn it was the reason I carry a huge handbag, but behold, my black nylon meter case (at the top in the corner, blending in so well that it’s hard to see) is about the smallest thing in here. Outsizing it are my Moleskine calendar, my makeup pouch, the case for the reading glasses I’ve had for months but have yet to use in public, my wallet and the Crown Royal bag that holds my Tarot cards. My travel-sized aerosol hairspray and my glucose tablets are the only things smaller, and they’re not that much smaller.
Freestyle Lite, I’m sorry. I guess it was never your fault. It’s especially hard to say that because this is our last week together. I have an appointment March 16 to get hooked up with an Omnipod, the stick-on insulin pump that comes with a meter which also remote-controls insulin delivery. The meter is supposed to look like a smartphone, but it’s too blue and wide and rubbery to pass for that. And the stick-on pump it controls is certainly less sleek than a syringe. I can’t tell you how sexy syringes look to me right now. I’ve been shooting up for almost eighteen years and I’ve grown to appreciate my BD Ultra-Fines, particularly the way they go back in my purse when they’re empty instead of sticking to my body, announcing my frailty like a big wart or a small hunchback. Syringes are so slender. Discreet. Vaguely heroin-y like too much eyeliner.
It’s not you, Freestyle. My creeping-up A1C says it’s time to move on to the pump and its special smartphoney meter but you’ll always have a place in my heart. As Stevie Nicks says, sort of, I’ve built my purse around you. And as Amy Stockwell Mercer says, I’ll always be a big bag girl.
