The glucose meter is better than the Medic Alert bracelet.

The glucose meter is better than the Medic Alert bracelet.

It never fails. Every time I pull out the glucose meter, someone asks what I’m doing.

“Is that a game?” asked a waiter at a diner my family and I were at. “Not at all,” I said. “I’m diabetic.” My mom laughed about it later saying, “Yeah, for this game, all you have to do is give me a little bit of your blood.” Creepy.

But it is somewhat like a game. You have to score below 200 to be in the running for a nice prize. Under 100 and above 60 you’re the bees knees!

Anyway, like I was saying, the glucose meter is definitely a conversation starter. On the bus, on the train, people just staring at me, it’s common. Even if they don’t know what it is, plenty of people feel at liberty to ask the question, “What is that?”

The other day, I pulled out the machine and checked myself. “You’re diabetic?” asked a friend of mine. “Yup!” I said. I didn’t know he didn’t know. Most people who know me, know that, at the very least. I wear the bracelet.

Ironically, a friend of mine says to me, via Gchat, “I didn’t know you were diabetic. The bracelet usually gives it away.” I laughed because, well, I wear a bracelet with blue writing on it that says, “Medic Alert” and on the back says, “Diabetic Insulin Dependent.”

As a kid, I hated wearing the bracelet. It was ugly and annoying. This must have been before my infatuation with jewelry. But I would always take it off. I eventually lost it. Oh well, I thought.

Then came the wrath of the doctor and all she had to do was say this (as I’m writing this, I feel that I’ve already written about this situation in a previous post, but what the hoot? Here it is again): You’re on a bus and suddenly you start seizing. (Pretty picture, I know.) At the same moment, another person starts seizing and they have a bracelet that says they’re epileptic. You don’t have one at all. The paramedics arrive and guess who they’ll treat first? The person with the bracelet. Why? Because they know what the problem is. You’ll be there, having tests performed on you all the while you could’ve just had a shot of glucagon and been fine. They’re going to try and figure out why you’re having this reaction, which could be the result of numerous problems and illnesses.

After that, I got a letter in the mail from Medic Alert asking if I wanted to buy a bracelet. YES! I got one, in blue, so the paramedics would know why I was passed out, seizing or whatever else could possibly happen to me. I suppose no one is going to sit and stare at my wrists, to tell you the truth, which is why the little black case and blood and machine that beeps and counts down causes such a fascination to instill in whomever is around me at the moment.

I guess it’s self-explanatory as to why the meter works better than the bracelet. I also considered getting “I have diabetes” tattooed to my forehead, but if you know me, you know that idea fell through.

Either way, please feel free to ask questions, should you see someone with a glucometer. I want to know what they say to you when you ask, “Is that a game?”


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