Stabbed

I am such a wimp. I pride myself on being able to fall off a 1300lb animal and get up laughing and more determined than ever, but today I was a wimp. But, I do have a reason, as you will see. I was stabbed in the arm… Okay, maybe stabbed is a little dramatic. It was more like poked, stuck, or “pinched,” as they call it, they being the dreaded nurses.

Due to the fact that my body has decided to take up a number of abnormal activities that are rather alarming, my doctor, wonderful man that he is, ordered every blood test in the book, which led to the stabbing incident. (Thanks, Doctor. I really appreciated your thoughtfulness after the seventh, yes seventh, vial!)

As my father dear drove me to the hospital, I suddenly felt shooting pains running up and down my left arm. I looked down and saw the spot, the spot where they always get me. I have two prominent veins that are apparently full of life, for every time I need any type of treatment, that is the first place the nurse looks and subsequently stabs. Oh, how my arm did cramp! It was as if my muscles were going into rebellious spasms against the impending event.

It did not help my nervousness when I saw that the nurse who called my name had crazy eyes. Only the looniest of people would choose human stabbing as a profession, of that I was sure. She tried to distract me by talking about what seems to be on everyone’s mind: Christmas. I think she got the message that I really just wanted her to shut up and get it over with when I stopped talking altogether.

Just kidding.

Me having a very hard time being rude to strangers + my talkative nature= me talking to her about what I am planning on doing over my winter break. Sadly I was not even to the interesting part when I felt a horrible pain in my arm. My heart stopped beating. My lungs felt paralyzed. The room swirled out of control. Nothing was clear.

And then the nurse’s face was before me just as it had always been. Wait, I wasn’t fainting at all. I was fine. She asked me to continue my story. I looked down and saw the number of vials filled was less than the vials empty. Great, the worst is yet to come! But I respectfully continued my story, speaking of everything and nothing at the same time, and before I knew it, her work was done, and there was a gaping hole in my arm. I shuttered. She put a piece of tape over the bandage and told me I was good to go, but to leave the bandage on so as not to contract any viruses. Oh, gee! Thanks! So if I’m not already, I’m sure to die from a virus that I contract through the gaping hole in my arm. Comforting, to say the least.

I walked to the lobby to find, and Father Dear laughed at the sight of me carrying my arm in my right hand, being careful not to bump it against any obstacles that I may have encountered. What can I say? I told you I was a wimp!

Throughout the whole night I would randomly get a cramp in my arm and have to stretch it out a few times before it would release its grip on my nerves. Oh, the horror. A, my little sister, saw my “owie,” and she just stared over the now bruised hole that the needle left behind like I was the biggest hero in the world. I had endured a great feat in her eyes, being as she hates getting her blood drawn even more than I do. So I suppose something good came of it, but still. Stabbing? Isn’t there another way to test someone’s healthiness rather than completely invading not only their bubble but literally, their BUBBLE?

I’m thinking that maybe, since I am so impassioned by this issue at the moment, that instead of becoming a best selling novelist, I should perhaps be the renowned inventor that comes up with a new way of drawing blood, one that involves no stabbing whatsoever. I presented my idea to a good friend and her response was as follows: Hahahahahahaha. Yeah right. Stick to writing. Haha.

Sniff, sniff. Okay :( So I remain an incredibly wimpy, almost novelist, flat broke student that will have to forever endure the moors of stabbdom.