The other night I was watching video clips on the dLife website. Jim Turner was in the middle of another great piece on the equipment we all have used through the years to check our sugars. It occurred to me that I have way more technology hanging off of my belt than Fred Banting had in his whole Toronto lab back in 1921. He saved millions of us with his rather limited equipment, yet I still have trouble sometimes staying under 200, or above 30. But I digress. Jim at one point demonstrated a lancet tool from the early 1980s. Described as a “crude” machine, I recognized it immediately as the lancet device I have been using since Day One.

My trusty old Ames Autolet doesn’t owe me a thing. On the low end, it has been through 69,875 tests (and maybe half a dozen lancet changes, in the interest of full disclosure,) and shows no signs of quitting anytime soon. It is the Energizer Bunny of lancet devices. Made of heavy plastic (not your run of the mill “ABS Space” plastic,) this puppy has taken perpetual abuse in briefcases, backpacks, glove compartments, hockey bags, fanny packs, tennis bags, suitcases, bicycle seat pouches, beach bags, carry-on bags, grocery bags, bathroom drawers, pencil cases, nightstands, blue jean pockets, and pocketbooks. It has flown over Alaska’s glaciers, been to a playoff Game 7, rapelled in the jungles Central America, stood before our nation’s Founding Documents, floated on the Mighty Mississippi, and ridden Space Mountain. It will cross the Equator with me next year.

And it’s just getting warmed up.

Held together by four slotted, stainless steel screws, it has no adjustment knobs, no calibrations, no removable caps, and no pocket clips. I have taken it apart many times for a thorough cleaning, but mostly because no real man can ever truly claim something as his own until he has dismantled and reassembled it himself. Whoever designed this thing’s innards must have been a real medieval type, because it’s not much more than a miniature, spring-actuated catapult. Locked and loaded, it stares me in the eyes and says, “Listen, pal, I’m puttin’ a hole in ya. You ready?” One resounding SNAP later, I have my sample. No ifs, ands, or buts. Just blood. Quick and effective.

It is the manifestation of durability in the extreme, and no other sampling device I have ever tried matches it for simplicity, efficiency, and ease of use. Oh, all right, my wife’s 7” Wusthof Classic fillet gets the nod in the Speed Department, but who’s going to shell out seventy bucks and commit to weekly honings for the sake of a few seconds?

None of this, however, is to say that it is drawback-free. A plastic, removable platform (marked USE ONCE ONLY) is the weak link. Every February 29^th or so, it breaks off at the shoulder where a little tab fits into the device itself, and I have to fish out the broken stem with something sharp, like the lancet. Then I spend an hour or two scavenging like a rat through my supplies until I find a replacement platform to USE ONCE ONLY until next leap year.

Another shortcoming of my antique bloodletting tool is that its internal components are open to small debris such as used strips, loose Tic Tacs, my wedding band -- you know, the kind of stuff that gets left hanging around. It gets inside through a ¼” wide slot, and can interfere with the spring/latch mechanism. But this is a rare occurrence, and the gadget is usually cleared in less than a minute with a simple up side down shake, or faster if my ringless finger is being threatened by a woman with a Wusthof.

At 25 years old, my Autolet continues to serve me well every day. I figure to get another 25 years out of it, the good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise. And when that sorry day comes, and I have to surrender the worn-out remains of my crude little machine to the ash can of diabetic supplies, I will do so with a heavy heart, but not too heavy. Because that’s when I’ll forage through my supplies for the other, brand new Autolet that I bought as a back-up in 1983.

I’m all about planning ahead.