Entry 1.
A blood test should be a fairly simple and beginner-nurse friendly operation.
Sometimes it happens however, that even though the procedure is deemed as friendly, the nurse certainly isn’t.
An unlucky combination.
Pairing the lack of mechanical skills with unfriendliness, should be the peak experience of drawing one’s blood.
It’s the usual 5AM protocol. The rounds begin, as I’m drifting between the realms in light, disturbed sleep. The patient next to me has finally stopped snoring and there is silence.
With a loud “bang” the ceiling lights are ignited, setting the room on yellow fire. My eyes glued together, refused to answer the threat. “I’ll just pretend that I’m sleeping maybe they’ll go away.” – was my quickly crafted masterplan.
“Krew” – spoke the nurse while seated next to me. My eyes were compelled to snatch open. I could only force one eye at a time. The room swimming in light, induced a stabbing sensation in my dry eyeballs. Between two blinks, I’ve noticed the needle pointing right at me.
“Alright, I’ll just close my eyes and wait until it’s done, like always.” – I thought.
The nurse, a blondish new face with a wide smile, stabbed the metal in me and what it felt like – drew a straight line across my arm.
How strange, – I thought. I wasn’t aware we’re going to practice the art of linework on my skin.
After a long while of struggling she still kept the needle sunken in my flesh drawing my blood (quite literally). An odd and grotesque addition to the scene was the giggling. Laughing.
Couldn’t identify what sort, though. Nervous? Perhaps even happy?
Or just plain lunacy?
After an eternity I couldn’t hold it anymore and released a deep sigh caused by the consistent carving happening on my arm.
“Kettő, kettő!” – said the nurse with broken Hungarian.
Am I dreaming still? Or perhaps I am imagining things. How could a nurse speak Hungarian in a Polish hospital?
There was a high chance that I could be hallucinating – I concluded, due to the consistent exposure of strong medication, the lack of sleep, anemia, shock and malnutrition.
“That checks out.” – I thought.
Yet, the nurse held up two phials of my blood, showing me that she had needed to collect two samples. ‘Kettő’ in Hungarian stands for ‘two’.
She then disappeared, leaving a long line of red scar on my arm, proving, that indeed she was real, and not a fabrication of my collapsing mind.
