The needle.

by emmalikesandwrites

More apologies. I am a pathetic human being. I didn’t do a post yesterday because I spent most of the day sat in an overspill waiting room in Mile End hospital. Yes, I’m fine.
Although I can’t get the sticky tape marks off my arms from the various blood tests, dyes and drips. TOTAL first world problem.

Now I’m not a fan of needles, I mean really WHO IS? Unless you’re some fucking sadist. So naturally health care professionals are trained in various distraction techniques while they poke holes in you and pretend it’s fine. Admittedly these distraction techniques are mainly for small children, say children under the age of 12 who tend to do the cartoon eyeballs popping out the head freak out as soon as they see a needle. I’m 25. So I don’t need distracting right? WRONG. Distract me before I slither off the chair like a 6ft limp Leek.

This post is going to come a climax pretty quickly now. The nurse who did my Second blood test was called Joan. Now Joan isn’t that chatty and I’m already on edge from being a pin cushion all day. The needle goes in, I wince, Joan sees this and takes pity on me. She starts singing Michael Jacksons black or white, she’s a pretty good singer but all I’m wondering is how hard im tripping, or if she’s taken too much blood and I’ve created the scene in front of me in my head? Joan is black and I am white, she sings it to me the entire time the blood drips out of my arm and into the tube on the table. Most surreal moment of my life bar none.

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