If you follow me on twitter, you’ve probably read some tweets about how I’m sick and all. Meh. I’ve spent the last couples days in several clinics and the last two in a hospital, mostly waiting to see doctors and specialists and all.
Today I met Terminanurse ( que j’ai surnommé la matricule 728 des infirmières mais ça marche pas tant en Anglais ). I’ve been in and out of clinics and hospitals for the whole weeks, trying to figure out what’s wrong with me ( i.e. rashe, extremely high fevers, swollen and painful lymph nodes, blah blah blah ) and we’ve finally narrowed it down: it’s either an allergic reaction to my new meds for epilepsy or some evil unindentified nasty. And blood tests will tell. Cool.
So that’s where Terminanurse comes in. Lady looks nice, we chat a little bit; I like to get to know people a bit before I give them some blood, you know…. I’m a lady. She finally pricks me with her needle. I never look at my arm during a blood test because I hate blood and I hate needles. So I was looking at my mom instead, everything was going well… Until she starts WIGGLING THAT NEEDLE OF DEATH INSIDE OF MY ARM!!!!
” Ow that hurts “
No response. She keeps on wiggling the freaking needle more. I’m not one to complain about pain, but this shit hurts like fuck.
” Ok, this hurts really really bad “
No response from the nurse. My mom looks horrified and the pain crosses that threshold and I start crying, really really hard. And I’m trying not to move because Terminanurse over here is still wiggling that huge ass needle in my arm and last thing I need right now is to make it worse.
” THAT HURTS THAT HURTS OMG THAT HURTS PLEASE STOP “
The keeps wiggling this evil medical tool in my arm. I can feel the needle scratching whatever else is in my arm and close to said vein. She’s not hearing my begging so I sit there, crying so hard, looking at my scared mother.
” Ok ~~ I’m done ~~ !”
She finally removes the diabolic needle from my arm and goes on with her business, nearly whistling a joly tune while I’m still crying in pain. I didn’t let her put a bandaid on me… WHAT COULD SHE DO WITH A BANDAID IF SHE COULD HURT ME WITH A NEEDLE… I ain’t taking risks, I’ll bleed in my shirt, I don’t care.
We get out of there and my mom says: ” Ice cream ? “
” A full tub please. “
I dyed my hair lilac.
You can still see the rashes on my arms and face 🙁