Part of my diabetic equipment is a transmitter. It is a little machine that wirelessly transmits the data from the sensor (which is the actual device that plugs into me) and my pump. It is a very important, and expensive part of the system that attempts to keep me feeling like a normal person. It is also not covered by insurance.
Last week, this thing died. It has a battery inside it that lasts 9 months, and can’t be replaced. And I got a new one, and I ended up getting it for free by bitching at them, and the new one is much smaller and has a rechargeable battery and it marvelous. But none of that really matters. What matters is that the old one died, and I knew it was going to die for about a week before it actually did, and that made me really sad.
I guess I didn’t think that I would become attached to a piece of machinery. Even my laptop, which I love, is just a computer and I will happily replace it with a new model when the time comes. But this little transmitter seemed more alive. It had become a part of me, and I was very sad to see it go. In fact, even in the dead state which it now finds itself in, I have it still sitting on my desk.
The point of this is that I have anthropomorphized my medical equipment. But even more than that, I view it as part of myself. In some ways, my insulin pump is just as much a part of me as a finger. And in some ways, I’d miss it way more than a finger or something like that. It is a really weird experience.
But, I’m still excited about the new little transmitter, and I bet the next pump I get will be even better.