Ever since I heard Micky Rourke quote the Micky Mouse Club in Angelheart, I’ve always been intrigued by Wednesdays. Anything-can-happen is so much better than hump-day. Unfortunately, anything can mean any bad thing and though I survived yesterday, I really had moments wondering “why me?”
I’ve had a bad knee and finally, after hobbling and grimacing all over Westwood and Midtown, caved to go to the doctor. Dr. Black is his name and he was perfectly nice. He assured me that it could be anything — that’s assuring, right? — and said we’d treat it as a muscle strain. Then he pressed one more place and decided I needed some blood work.
Luigi calls me the veinless wonder. He has a point. Luigi also left me a voice mail saying he’d missed his flight which I received as I was walking to the vampire lab. Upset describes the tone of the moment. Phlebotomists tremble at the sight of my arms; they tend to look longingly at my jugular vein. I have, in short, a hate/hate relationship with them. Too many bruises and blown veins have occurred for me NOT to generalize. Yesterday, it was Innocent’s turn. (Honestly, the guy’s name was Innocent.) Innocent found a vein, but I as I warned him I would be, no blood would flow. He gave up after the needle was in me for too long without any action.
Anxiety attacks, for those of you inexperienced in them, are always fun in front of strangers. Innocent brought me cranberry juice, told me I could not leave until I gave him another chance, questioned my status as human vs. zombie, held my hand, made me look into his eyes as he found another vein in another arm and drained me. I think we were both stronger people after that experience; mainly though, I’m glad to say good bye to Innocent’s impact.
And to end my Wednesday, I woke up with what could only be described as atomic flash fire occuring on my knee where the topical cream was rubbed. More tears, a phone call to the pharmacist, I finally took a Benedryl and am thankful that chapter has closed. Va bene.