They took blood today

[carose59]

Not much.
Two vials.
Two sticks because my veins rebel at this intrusion.


I want it back.


The phlebotomist talked nicely to me and to my unwilling veins but while
the needle went in,
the blood did not come out.


(It's because I'm fat.  I have small, twisty veins and blood that slugs out because I'm fat and it would be OK if I died.)


I tried to go to my happy place
but I haven't had a happy place in a long time now.


My life is a bloodless, arid place now.


I didn't faint, although the world did seem less than real and I wondered if the colors were right.
Was it really that dark or was I about to die?


(Sometimes I get up in the morning and wonder if I've had a stroke and everything I'm experiencing is through a haze of not enough blood in my brain and maybe I'm really
my mother
a bird in a cage looking out at the world.
What's real anyway?
What's reality got to do with it?)


I want my blood back!



Let's be logical about this, let's look at it rationally.
If it takes two phlebotomists two tries to get two vials of my blood,
how much blood could three phlebotomists get with five vials and six tries?


I was cheerful.
I was good, to make up for the bad way my veins behave in public.
I told them this was the story of my life.
I told them I was sorry
(I'm always sorry).

I didn't have to tell them I'm fat.
They knew this was why.


I didn't cry until later
after lunch
when maybe nobody would see me.



I want my blood back.


When they look at it, they're only going to find out bad things about me.
That's why my veins won't give it up for strangers.
My whole body is united in an effort to let no-one know.


I want my blood back


although


at least occasionally I still have my tears.