If I’m going to have to carry around a stash of pills tucked away in my pocket or purse (in other words, if I want to leave home, ever), then damnit, I am going to have a little bit of fun about it.
When I worked at the Camera Store, rather than using my break to buy and eat crappy and expensive mall food, I would wander around and window-shop. One day, dawdling about Hallmark, I ran into this little pill case.
It was $8. Eight friggin’ dollars.
I had to have it.
Recently a friend of ours had her father pass away, and she was taking his death rather hard. We went to the viewing to support her. When I saw her fumble around in her little black “formal” purse to take out a bottle of xanax while talking with my husband, I knew what I just had to do. I reached down into my purse, grabbed my little bee case, unceremoniously dumped all the pills out into my purse, and pressed the empty case into her hand. She hugged me.
Later she told me that it was one of few things that really made her smile during all the public ceremony surrounding his death.
I was glad to hear it, because, well, it was really hard to give up that case. I loved that thing to death. It was a small joy to see it every time I had to pop another pill to be able to keep going, whether I was shopping, working, visiting a friend, visiting a doctor…
And really, it was just cute, and stylish. And so often, the objects and devices that we, people with disabilities, depend on to help us through life, are purely functional beasts. They are large and clunky, plastic, dirty and old from years of use. They are designed to do their job — not to look nice. Which is perfectly fine, and all, but sometimes, dammit, you just like to have something pretty.
A lot of pwd go for decorative canes to walk with, for instance. Hell, kids have been decorating the casts they have over their broken bones for ages. It’s not like it’s out of place to have the desire for something that is well-designed in both form and function.
So. My pill case. I actually sought out another one (and it took some effort) just because, well, sometimes there are those things that you just become so attached to — there was a keychain I got while I was at Cal State Fullerton that lasted me years, and I had to ask the in-laws to retrieve it from the keys when we junked the car I totaled last December. There aren’t many things I get attached to that way — I can’t really think of any other item that is important to me in quite the same way.
I never did find one on eBay and Hallmark had them in clearance when I got the second one, so I can’t link you to any place where you can buy it yourself, unfortunately (I believe it to be that awesome). But a hop on the Google bus will land you a few places that are providing the same basic product, and I’m sure you can use your imagination to dream up ways to apply this concept to different assistive devices.
It’s just not living if you can’t have a little fun.
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