Reading a book, a good book.
Taken in for a blood draw. Not a finger poke, like they do in Eastside. She says she doesn’t like finger pokes. But she’s good. She looks atmy right arm. Puts the needle in, wiggles it. Apologies. Withdraws. Looks for another place to try. Another phlebotomist comes by. We’re talking about the book while she looks for a place.
The alternate, as full of confidence as the first, hits the vein. But it doesn’t draw. There is a bump on my arm. We talk, I’m used to being missed. I have the book to the first and tell her to read aloud while the second tried again. She starts in on “She says STFU.” They are both laughing. I am too. She switches arms and gets it.
We laugh me out. With a bandage on each arm. Normally, they just do a finger poke. Next time I will.