I see a lot of posts from my fellow diabetics about test strips found in the wild. A test strip found on the floor of a cab. A test strip on a hiking path. Diabetes trash. Hansel and Gretel, gone diabetes style. I never ever see these mysterious, elusive test strips, ever. If I find a test strip in my shoe, it’s mine. A test strip in my tights (that actually happened once), it too is mine. No great mystery around here.
Tonight I was meeting up with a friend. Two subways should have taken 24 minutes to get me to my destination (yes, 24 minutes). My first train was delayed and I was going to be late. I HATE being late. While I waited for the connecting train, I paced the platform. I looked down. Dear non- New Yorkers, this is often the moment you see a rat or mouse on the tracks. Guess what I saw? Nope, not a rat. Nope not a mouse. A syringe! 
For a second my heart skipped a beat. A DIABETIC WAS HERE! I grabbed my phone. I felt silly but I snapped a quick photo and then I realized it. My heart skip knew better too. That syringe probably didn’t belong to a diabetic. It wasn’t the tool of my people. A test strip in the wild = a diabetic has been here. A syringe in the wild = who the hell knows?
The test strip hunt continues.
Same situation with me. Any strips I’ve found have been solely my own, unless some other PWD is breaking into my house and leaving their trash behind. I thought that maybe it was just me being non-observant, but I guess that’s not the way it goes around here.
I kept my syringe box in the back of my Jeep, and a man at a moving company told me a sad story about having no insurance, and that he was running out of needles. So, I gave them to him. My mother, when I told her, said, “You’re so naive. Was he diabetic, or on heroin?” Either way, the dude had clean needles 🙂