I nervously reached under my messenger bag flap and into my inner zipper pouch to pull out my standing order and insurance card.
"Here's my insurance, I've been here before"
"Good! Ok, go ahead and sign in." The man, African American and in his mid-thirties with generous features examined the documents carefully. A million thoughts raced through my head: I'm so glad they're open Christmas Eve. How many more times do I have to do this? I hate this part of it, why do they have--
"Could you put our birthday right here?"
"Mmmhmm"
'K, go ahead and have a seat. We'll be with you in a moment." He ushers me to a seat with an upturned palm.
"Uh, ok." I flopped down with uncertainty and surveyed the room and its contents. Even though it probably was my 4th time in the specimen collecting office lab place, I surveyed the room with a critical eye. The reverse "L" shape of the room was lined with sparsely cushioned office chairs with neutral soothing tones of green blue and black swirled together in a pseudo distorted geometric pattern. The walls were at best a seafoam green with light white patterns on it. I suppose the ambiguous patterns account for the imaginative mind. It's fun to look at them a try and figure out what teh shapes could be and decipher them like clouds on a hot August afternoon when the sky contrasts crisp white fluffy clouds with a stark crisp denim blue. Excuse the run-on. At the head of the "L" was a television and a minion of deserted playthings hewn about. I suppose those playthings hadn't been toyed with in quite some time, not showing tell tale signs of grime and pedestrian usage. I can see it now, tiny, nubby sick fingers pawing at the small manipulatives. Ew. And the years and years, maybe just hours of being manhandled would result in the film of nasty. I hate daycares: germ zoos. I looked up, the florescent lighting and foam ceiling tiles were oppressive.
Damn, ok. I need something to cheer me up. Lemme check my phone.
"YOU have, ONE unheard message. FIRST unheard message:
'MEEAAHHHH!!! EYE LOVEEEE YOOOOUUUU!!!!!! [Lady Gaga's 'Bad Romance' filters through, as he chimes in] I love you, I love you! I'll talk to you tomorrow! Kay? LOVE YOU! Can't wait to be in a frat! I WANT YOUR LOVIN' I WANT YOUR REVENGE YOU AND ME CAN WRITE A BAD ROMANNCCCCCEE!"
Oh the friends we have, it brought back so many Thursday nights past. I smile, deceptively, knowing that my eyes are telling of my current state of mind: watery and dejected. I hated the pain of having the needle sent up my vein. A cold foreign object entering my warm pulsing vein. I have to do it to look pretty. Oxymoron? I think not.
I can blame it partially on Field Hockey. Every fall afternoon, and sometimes in the winter on the weekends, I'd endure at least 3 hours of Mom running around, running errands and waiting for my brother and Dad to come from downtown by 8:30 p.m. Wonderful. Anyone acclimated with the workings of Acne knows that when dirt and sweat and the hormone- produced sebum gets all mixed up together, it creates...ACNE! And the growing child that I am was brimming with hormones AND the field hockey induced sweat and dirt were just an added plus. Yippe. SO, I began my water- drinking regimen with fervor and conviction, knowing that my condition would be alleviated, to no avail.
Over the years I've developed a very strong connection to my dermatologists, they've watched me progress from my late Middle School days into my final years of college. Needless to say, we've had quite a journey. We tried fading cream, with Retin A and Hydrogen Peroxide and all other sorts of meds that tackled the issue form the outside. Finally, about a year ago, after mother had to shell out $120 for a 3 inch long tube of fading cream that never worked, she was FED UP.
"We have a problem" She said,"And nothing seems to cure it. I'm tired of spending time trying to fix this acne problem and NOTHING is working"
"Well, Mrs._____there IS Accutane."
"Accutane?"
"Mmm, yes. Accutane." Their exchange could be turned into a sing-songy opera.
"It's only for our patients with the most severe symptoms. I don't think either of your children qualify." Mother was practically foaming at the mouth. There's nothing more that annoys her than wasting time. The doctor sensed this and moved on quickly, fishing for the appropriate paperwork in a drawer.
"Ok, well. Here's a booklet for your daughter." the doctor hands me the pamphlet gingerly. The gravity of the information in the booklet probably burdened her physically and mentally I would soon discover why.
"Ok then, I'll take a look at it and we'll go ahead and start when I get back from school." So there it sat in the bottom of my drawer for about a month as I perused online sources for better solutions. Here's what I found out
Side effects: depression, morning sickness, psychosis, Bowel inflammation and pain, chest pain, decreased night vision, decreased tolerance to contact lenses, delay in wound healing, depression, fatigue, headache, nausea, peeling palms or soles, rash, skin infections, stomach and intestinal discomfort, sunburn-sensitive skin, thinning hair, urinary discomfort, vision problems, vomiting, suicidal thoughts, sensitivity to sunlight...let's just say the sun sensitivity one resulted in me carrying a umbrella everywhere I go. That always was a conversation starter....
Wonderful. Just wonderful. I would also have to give up alcohol, and abstain from sexual activity The total antithesis of "Rock and Roll". Yes. So in order to monitor my liver functions and fertility, I would have to go in for blood work every month for 6-8 months. Which brings us to the present day as I wait to have my blood drawn.
It always unnerves me. So I try to think of happy things, like the voicemail I received on my phone earlier, or that guy that has yet to call me back, or those shoes I saw when I was shopping online?
A nurse in a set of scrubs flecked with Tweedy Bird in various sea-foam green doctor outfits all over the scrubs in a seemingly helter-skelter pattern calls out my name.
"W'e're ready for you." Hmm, are you really? My body immediately enters a cold sweat. Clammy. Clammy clam clam clam chowder. I'm hungry. Errr. Even though i was supposed to fast, I never did. I'm a snacker nonetheless and hadn't snacked in a couple hours, which wasn't helping my mood.
"Have a seat." The industrial blue chair with extended and elevated armrests was cozied in the corner with a small table holding the necessary instruments to prick me. A 3 inch test tube with a manila colored fluid in the bottom. My brother, studying for med school tells me it's instrumental in separating the plasma from the white and red blood cells. Fantastic. Just fantastic, got me thinking on warm, gooey blood leaving my 3 year old sized arm. Argh. One time my mom reached for my arm without looking and was startled to see that it was me at the end of it.
"Oh! Your arm felt like a three year old arm! Ew, that was really weird." Mmmhmm love you too mom.
So the tech, with her menagerie of braids, glasses and focused determination checks me out in the computer. I'm nervous and my mind races. OH MY GAW-
"Which arm?"
"Uhh, this one?" indicating my left. I figure my less used arm wold be helpful...I've forgotten my flawed and desperate reasoning. I extended it and rolled up my sleeves before I closed my eyes. I was careful to steady my thoughts, focus on happy things like shoes, and glitter and tiaras and gelato.
I shiver.
"Hold still. One, two, three. In." I almost threw up. I hate knowing that that prickly thing they call a needle is entering my artery. MEEP!
For those unfamiliar to my internal language, "meep" is an expression of general discomfort, awkwardness, or making light of something terribly silly.
It took so much focus to not faint again.
Squeamish, that word sounds really funny. Haha, SQUEAMISH...
"DONE! Hold this."
"Huh?"
"Hold this" I snapped to the present and opened my eyes. I recognized the pressure on my arm, minus the throbbing pain normally accompanied by it.
"You ok there? It was hard to get to your super large artery over your little bone right under it."
EW...ew, ew, ew, ew, ew EW! Graphic much? Yes I am squeamish. Meep. Meep often arises when referring to males. Meepage. Seriously.
"Uh, thanks" As I replace my jacket and messenger bag on my body. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I scowled as the wind assaulted my face in December's sub-zero weather.
