Unless you consider my ability to segue between topics on a podcast (like this one), I don’t have a contribution to Diabetes Art Day. I know, and I’m sorry. I thought about busting open my sharps container and making a sweet smiley face or something with the oodles of used insulin pen needles, but as you can see, that didn’t happen. But, you’re reading this post so that must mean that I have something to contribute to the day. After all, Lee Ann is pretty cool and I’m all for anything I can do to spread the good word of the Butter Compartment. So while I didn’t have something for Diabetes Art Day, Dayle did. Dayle?
What’s a symbol of diabetes for me? The Juice Box. More than the syringes or pens or pumps, more than the meters or test strips or CGMs, more than medical id jewelry or glucose tabs or Mary Tyler Moore, more than sharps containers or the symbols that any organization may trademark… No, for me, it’s all in the Juice Box.
Mad Men’s Don Draper might have some eloquent way to explain that juice boxes are the best way to incorporate wholesome simplicity with the fondness of childhood memories – all in a little box in your hand…. But my association with juice boxes is more about unwrapping the damn straw in a hypoglycemic fog and jabbing at the box until the straw bends or gets a hole in it, then once the straw is in, juice squirts everywhere – bed sheets or car seats or the new blouse I wore to work. Seriously, how does one come across as a professional in a business meeting with juicebox still in hand? Truth be told, I don’t have any answer to that. But I’m trying.
So here’s my spin on the juice box. Of course, some of us have upgraded to Capri Sun pouches and straw-inserting diabuddies. The pouch doesn’t make much of a difference, but the companion sure does.