Thursday, October 24, 2013

I Drew My Own Blood

I'm fairly used to the process of getting my blood drawn. It has happened so much over the last year that I can go through the motions simply by relying on muscle memory. I go to the receptionist. She always recognizes me, and tells me to have a seat and wait until my name is called. I wait for about five minutes. A nurse walks into the waiting room, calls my name, and I follow her to one of the lab rooms where I sit, make a little small talk, get a needle stuck in me, give up three vials of blood, and then get a band-aid over the wound. I always thank the nurse for making it a painless process, even if it wasn't.

Yesterday, however, the process changed for a bit. The nurse was new and, after she led me into the lab room, she left for what I thought would be a brief moment. Some ten minutes later, I got bored. I picked up a piece of scrap paper and began to doodle. A few moments later, the nurse walked in and the following exchange occurred:

Nurse: Are you ready to have your blood drawn?
Me: Oh, that won't be necessary. I've already drawn my blood for you.
Nurse: WHAT??
Me: (Showing the picture I drew of my red blood cells at a rave). Here. Have a look.
Nurse: (Definitely not laughing) .......
Me: What? I didn't have time to color it.
Nurse: Hold out your arm.
Me: Don't you want to tape it to the fridge or something?

And THAT, dear readers, is why my arm still hurts this morning.


They're Supposed To Be Red Blood Cells, Not Donuts.

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