I had blood drawn this morning. They filled nine vials. Nine! If I felt a little lightheaded, it was from disgruntlement, not from blood loss.Let me quickly say that I am not even ill. All I am is aging. Having my general lab tests require nine vials really rubbed my nose in that. I was not amused. I have a real love/hate relationship with the needle-nurses in the lab. While I have never been fond of needles, I was born with the fat, ropey veins every nurse swoons over. My self-esteem always gets a little boost when I pull up my sleeve and their eyes get big.
I almost always get an “Oooh!” of appreciation when I bare my beautiful, big basilic vein. I nod graciously. These same veins make my hands look like those of a grizzled crone, but they always get rave reviews from anyone with a needle in their hand.
My veins go largely to waste, unfortunately. I’d give blood like a champ but the Red Cross is so fussy about iron levels. Tsk. I suppose it would be tacky to have the recipient of my blood suddenly need afternoon naps.
I also like to think I would be wildly popular with vampires. Talk about hip. That could kick up my street cred up a notch and we all know how important that is.
Jean Gillette is a freelance writer with major highways under her skin. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.