Back about a week ago, when I was going through my hebdonas horibilis (roughly "bad week" in Latin, though I'm told they didn't track the days in sevens back in the day), I was at the end of my rope. I was hoping for a sign, any sign, that things were going to get better.
And because I have OCD, what I started to obsess over was whether the insulin needles I have left in the bag are an odd or even number.
I keep an opened bag of needles right next to me, here on my desk where I usually blog. There are ten needles in each bag. My Grandmother needs to go through two a day.
So when I started out, I would go through and load up the needles with insulin for her to use the next day. And when I got through the entire bag, usually late at night I would go to the bathroom and to get another bag.
A month or so ago, however, Grandmother went to the casino. She forgot to take her syringe with, and she didn't use it when she got home, either. That meant that I had one syringe left over, and that meant I only needed to load up one for the next day, which meant that I now had an odd number in my bag. I was excessively bummed out when I reached into the bag a second time to see that it was empty, because then I had to remember to grab a bag in the middle of the day, and I know that I probably won't.
So I waited, pined, for the day when I could "get back even." And last weekend -- wait, maybe it was the weekend before ... yeah, the weekend before -- I got that chance. Grandmother went away for most of that Satureday and came back late, therefore she didn't use her needle. And I'm back even, yay!
So after I gave her her shot Sunday morning, I was more than happy to load up the other needle, which would mean that every syringe still in the bag now had a partner. I was staring at my computer while preparing the needle, however, and I flipped the syringe around to stick it into the vial, and/or when I was lying the two things up vertically so I could shoot the needle up, and, somehow, the syringe slipped out of my hands. And I saw the needle fall helplessly to the floor. NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'll be honest: If the needle of the needle didn't touch the floor, I would have used it. I am that obsessed with keeping the syringes even. But it did, and throwing the now-contaminated syringe away, without using it once, and knowing that I was "back odd" because I was all goddamn thumbs, put me in agony. What a waste, and what a way to wrap up a week where nothing was going my way.
---
Zip to this Saturday. Grandmother went to the casino again. I was out watching the big-school boys' state high school hockey tournament championship game. When I came home late that night, there was an unused syringe. Back even!
Then, Sunday. She went to the casino yet again. I didn't go anywhere, but after watching the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament Selection Show and having dinner, I conked off -- but not before seeing Grandmother come home, around 8 or so. Didn't care about giving her her injection.
Woke up at around midnight. Checked the fridge. There was a needle. Back odd.
And now I realize what a mistake it is to obsess over something as frivolous as having an even number of syringes in a bag. Because it can all fucking change in a day.
No comments:
Post a Comment