How tragic that ‘bloodwork’ has so quickly gone from sounding dark and arty to sounding more like the name of a bad Steven Segal film (not that I mean in any way to imply that there is any such thing as a good Steven Segal film)
I was called back for more tests this morning as my bloodwork on Monday had ‘inconclusive results’. So further tests were required to see if I can attain human status in time to start the battery farm in my ovaries tomorrow.
My beloved nurse, The Stabber, wasn’t in this morning, which made me sad… for though it has been proven that she is shit at drawing blood, she’s a lovely lady who makes the experience as pleasant as can be and laughs uproariously at our silliness. Some of the other nurses look at us like we’re naughty children who need to take things a bit more seriously. In turn we think they can fuck right off!
If we didn’t have a little laugh during this process we would be extremely anxious, neurotic and stressed little barren bunnies ready to start freebasing Prozac as opposed to suffering a milder anxiousness and some background stress that can probably be treated simply with a topical ointment.
This morning, I met the wonderful Nurse Tell-Someone-Who-Cares. An efficient lady with a lovely accent and the personality of an undertaker , she marched me in to the bloodletting room and as I duly explained my prior issues with having no veins, shoved a needle straight in my arm and looked at me with contempt before spitting “I’ve been doing this a long time”. About 3 seconds later and with what I think was an attempt at a charming smile that nearly cracked her head open she marched out saying I’d get a call and that was that!
If I get her again I think I will hide under one of the larger Science Projectettes in the waiting room until she leaves.
Now I must wait by the phone to see if I get the go ahead to start farming the eggs. I do wonder where all the chickens will fit!