When Sam was first diagnosed, a good few months went by where I had no clue how to dispose of our sharps containers. So the little coffee cans would fill up, and I would shove them under the kitchen sink. Once I figured it out, I dragged what I thought was all the canisters out and disposed of them. Today I decided to clean out my cabinet, and guess what I found? 7 little canisters shoved full of needles stacked neatly in the back. oyes it's been 2 years since I've cleaned under there) It just struck me hard. All the fears, anger, disbelief came rushing back to me. I sat on the floor and sobbed, remembering how strange and horrible the beginning of this diagnosis was. Funny how such a mundane little task reminded me of how different everything really is now. Stupid little needles. I shouldn't hate something that saves my sons life. But I do.