Write a short story personifying a diabetes tool you use on a daily basis. A meter, syringe, pump, pill, etc. Give it a personality and a name and let it speak through you. What would it be happy about, upset about, mad about? (Thank you Heather of Unexpected Blues for this topic.)
Hello, my name is Fred and I am a glucometer. You would think with a job as important as mine that I would get a lot of respect but I don’t. I am shoved in dark pockets, thrown around and basically taken for granted. Its a very rough life.
I am expected to be ready for service at all times of the day. It doesn’t matter if I worked hard all day, they still expect me to be bright-eyed and shining at three in the morning. And when I say shining, I mean that they really want me to light up all nice and bright showing them glowing pretty numbers. When they are done with me, they just toss me off to the side again.
My job is tireless. They smear blood all over me. They curse at me when they don’t like what the reading is. Like that is my fault? How is it that I control what their blood glucose is going to be? I deserve a lot more respect.
The only time I get respect is when the parents or the doctor take a look at me. They know how important I am. They look at my display as if they are reading a holy gospel. They value me and my knowledge. My owner? Well, he looks at me like I am a rock, a burden that he is forced to carry around. I am the unwanted younger brother that he has to take everywhere.
Why does he have to think of me that way? It hurts my feelings. I am just trying to do my job. I am trying to work with him to keep him healthy. I know that it can be tedious. It’s not picnic for me either. I mean, I have to be on all of the time! There is no time when I can be just a little less accurate. I have to bring my A-game every time we meet. Its exhausting but I don’t get any praise or appreciation.
He just doesn’t get it and some times I get mad as well and when I do, I get even in my own way. When he just grumpily and shoves a strip in me and expects me to instantly produce results, I come back and tell him “Error 4″. Oh does that get his goat! He has to retest and take his time to treat me a little nicer–getting all of his blood just so on the test strip so that I will read it for him. After he has done that, I reward him by saying “HI” but he doesn’t often see the humor in that one. I don’t understand why. Isn’t it important to be friendly now and then? Perhaps if he could be a little nicer, we could work together a bit better and I wouldn’t have to resort to cheap jibes.
Maybe one day he will get it. One day he might understand how important I am! Oh well, at least he takes me most places. I usually only hear about the spots that we go to from the inside of a pocket but at least I get to tag along. It’s not easy being me. I guess it’s not easy being him either, but I still say, “work with me dude! It will make things so much easier!” Darn! I shouldn’t have said that so loud, here comes another check. Back to work!