Allright - seeing as how officially as of tomorrow morning, Forgotten Roanoke is re-launched, (feel free to poke around, things look different - but the old pages arent back up yet. But the new ones are pretty cool, I think) Im going to do some time compression here.
So the 14th passes with my making leaps and bounds improvements, being up and moving around - being ravenously hungry. Making my phone calls for the first time in days, answering tons of questions for the docs. STILL getting bloodwork at 5am.
Which leads to this tragic passage in the story. How to make a Phlebotomy tech cry unintentionally.
I had achieved a level of sleep which is precise, and dangerous. Military snipers sleep like this. Ever watchful while resting. I was programmed with the 4:45am wakeup call for the 5am-ish blood check. And the 6am doc visit. And the 7:30am breakfast call.
Well, I had some of the nicest blood-suckers one could ask for. Including this girl. She really could not have been more than 20, and she had been in a few times. We yapped casually as she sucked another few ounces of blood out of me.
Well, on the morning of either the 14th or 15th (that early its nearly impossible to remember), she had come in as usual. Started locking in her target vein for the day, began to slide the needle in, and the vein quickly ran the other way. She tried to coax it back, but it was not having any of it.
No, not in the least. And apparently it had joined a rebellion amogst my veins. She tried 3 times to tap in, and 3 times they just scooted out of the way at the last minute.
She started apologizing, like it was her fault I had union veins.
She was very upset, thinking that she was hurting me. As much as I tried to tell her she was not, she kept on with that thought. She left the room, fighting back tears, saying she would get her supervisor to come in.
About a half hour later, in comes the Head Vampire. A shortish, swarthy, no-nonsense looking fellow. We shall call him Vlad.
He walks up to me, takes a look at my arm, swabs it, preps the needle and bottles, and with nary a word - he pops me.
My veins, rigid with fear, don't move. Vlad has what he came for, and again - no words. He packs up and leaves, taking with him a deep shadow, and my veins relax.
Even the walls seemed to sigh in relief. I had to agree.
The next day, she did not return. She did stop in once before I left, last minute tests I believe. Again she apologized, and again I tried to tell her that it was not her fault. But this time she struck gold, straight into the vein of her choice. No problems.
It was a sort of closure, which I am thankful is not the typical everyday closure. My veins have a "strike-ready" stance. Waiting for that next moment they are called upon by the union leader, the Aorta, to rise up against sticking oppression.
So anyway, anecdotes are all I have left for these last few days. Well, except for the fact that we are not quite done with Dilantin just yet.
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