I don't collect things. Chris and I were talking about this the other day, how we don't have stamp collections or all of the teaspoons from each state or a vast closet filled with winter hats with fuzzy yarn pom-poms at the top. (Though I secretly - and now openly - wish I had a collection of puppets.)
But I do have a small and eclectic collection of medical items. I have a basket full of ancient glucose meters in my bathroom cupboard. In my jewelry box, there's a drawer dedicated to the sturdy-yet-sterile looking medical alert bracelets and necklaces I wore as I kid. I have a whole cabinet dedicated to unused lancing devices, injection supplies, bits and pieces of diabetes paraphernalia that I've taken home from conferences, and the odd thigh holster for hiding an insulin pump.
And now, lining up along the ledge on my bathroom counter, is this small, but growing, army of insulin bottles.
When I change my infusion set, this moment usually takes place in the bathroom, with my supplies lined up on the counter. So when an insulin bottle has its last units borrowed, it ends up as part of this guard. Sometimes I salute them. (No I don't.) (Okay, I did once.)
I'm not a collector, but I may be a hoarder. A diabetes hoarder.