I finally had the appointment today to have bloodwork done, like my doctor wants. The phlebotomist was good at getting the needles in without pain. With my tiny veins I’m no always lucky. But on the third vial of magenta chrimson the flow slowed to a trickle, creating Raggedy Ann striped patterns in the narrow tube as I watched the show. Frowning, the nurse jiggled the little butterfly needle and slid it in and out try to get a flow started again — no go. I on the other hand was experiencing thrilling jiggly shocks of freshly hatched electric baby beta-endorphin spiders coursing from my arm to my brain.
“I have to try the other arm.”, she said. I rolled up my sleeve to oblige. Next thing I knew she’d grabbed my arm and was leaning in for a closer inspection. My razor scars and piercing punctures looked whiter than usual against my olive skin under the harsh medical examiners light.
“Where do you usually hit this arm?” she asked.
“I don’t–” I started to explain myself but she really didn’t seem to care so I wondered if the truth might actually make things more complicated in this case. I surveyed the terrain and pointed to a more bluish, veiny looking spot of flesh. “Maybe there? That looks like a big one.” I was right, and my reward was a slightly more painful jab and another spider-endorphin shockwave.
sketched with dying pens while waiting to see the doctor. dying pens make interesting marks.