Meaningful Glances

I am a diabetic. Most anyone stopping by this corner of the blogosphere probably already knows that, but even still, it's not something I usually delve in to great detail about, to either family or friends. About a year ago, it became both necessary and prudent for me to begin taking insulin to aid in keeping my blood sugar levels under control. I started with one injection a day - a big adjustment for most type 2 diabetics and a story for a different blog if anyone's interested - but after only a few months, it became apparent that I would need to be more aggressive, going to an insulin regimen more closely associated with the treatment of type 1 diabetes (in which a person's body stops making insulin altogether). All this is to say that, as of 9 or 10 months ago, I started using insulin 3-5 times a day via good old fashioned syringe.

Quoting from the box that these syringes come in: "Today's insulin needle is thinner and more delicate for greater comfort, so needle reuse can damage the tip and cause injury. Use once and destroy."

Each one of these boxes contains 100 syringes, or what usually amounts to just under a month's supply. At first, I resorted to using the empty plastic diaper wipe containers laying around the house, but after filling two of these to near bursting with used syringes (the caps go back on, so it's not exactly as dangerous as it sounds), I started just storing the used syringes in the empty box from the previous month's supply. Fast forward the better part of the year, and it was beginning to get a little silly. I had a large-ish cardboard box, full of boxes, full of old needles, and several more sitting by the sink in our family room (what, you don't have a sink in your family room?). Obviously, these can't just go in the garbage - they're considered a biohazard because they've been under my skin. [insert your own lame attempt at spousal humor here]

So, taking advantage of a day off of work while my girls were out of town to the beach, I decided to face the music (an idiom I've never really understood, but still use) two days ago, and call the Metro South station - the local dump/recycling center. To my pleasant surprise and despite my repeated attempts to impress the kind lady on the phone ("Listen, you might not understand - I have a lot of needles to get rid of."), I was told that I could come right on down and put them in certified containers, pay a $5 deposit for a couple of said containers to take home, and be able to dispose of my sharps there at no cost in the future. What a deal! I traipsed out to the garage to retrieve my box of shame, put my mountain of needles in the van, and headed down to Oregon City.

The "drive-thru" for hazardous waste, I have to say, was a little unnerving. Large black drums containing who knows what kind of freakish sludge were stacked everywhere, men in neck-to-toe hazard suits were banging what looked like spray paint cans on the side of a big cart (something I'm pretty sure the can implicitly states not to do), and bicycles - ??? - yes, bicycles were stacked two or three high in between the barrels of corruption. Figure that one out. Truly a place that makes you want to keep the windows rolled up and hope that nobody in line with you has the urge to smoke. When my turn came, I (somewhat reluctantly) rolled down the window and reiterated my purpose, quantitative caveat and all. After promising, in writing, that this was not commercial waste (probably standard, but I still got a chuckle out of it), I was given three certified containers to transfer my collection in to once I'd parked out of the way of the rest of the line. These containers are kind of like small, rectangular red garbage bins, only with official looking words on the side, like "DANGER," and "BIOHAZARD." Also, they have lids that, for all intents and purposes, lock in place. I tried - and failed - for a good five minutes to get one off and make the transfer easier. As it slowly dawned on me that I was defeating this purpose, I decided to just try dumping one of the boxes of needles in to the much smaller opening on the certified container's lid. Not as successful as I'd hoped for. I had it under control for about 30 seconds before needles started to slip out, skitter across the lid and fall either to the van floor or to the parking lot itself. It was at that point that I noticed a small audience of two men standing at the top of a nearby flight of stairs, just outside the entrance to one of the buildings there and apparently on a smoke break (obviously, they didn't share my misgivings about the via del muerte just below). A study in ambivalence, were these two gentlemen. Completely nonplussed. You'd think people drop needles all over the parking lot on a daily basis for all the care they showed. I eventually filled all three of these red garbage cans to the brim with, as I thought to myself at the time, every needle I'd ever used as a diabetic. Some ten containers/boxes full, amounting to what I estimate at well over a thousand syringes. With a little forethought, I would have taken a picture, but that would have made for a rather macabre first photo on the blog. Next time I accumulate a thousand needles, I'll be sure to let you all see what it looks like.

For Now,

Andrew