4:16 pm. Bloodbath at the doctor’s office. I have “rolling” veins, so it’s not unusual that the phlebotomist can’t find a vein suitable for my bi-monthly IV infusions. I’ve often walked out of there with multiple bruises on my arms and hands from all the failed needle injection attempts. My usual phlebotomist (whose name is, weirdly, Zaheda) was out today and my veins refused to cooperate with new phlebotomist’s multiple attempts to get a needle into one of them. A doctor was called. To no avail.
Another doctor was called. After asking Kathy if she was my daughter, he tried a different set of veins and was also failing to find a non-recalcitrant one. I was advised by all concerned not to look because the blood was dripping everywhere. On the chair, on my clothes, on my phone. Kathy was holding my hand throughout, saying: “Whatever you do, don’t look. Trust me, you won’t want to see this.”