This story was part of a #challenge I did at the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic. I did some minor editing to this version for you guys; however, it was very little, so if you notice anything, let me know. This was some #lazyediting and #lazywriting, but I had a ton of #funwriting it.
Enjoy #invein
Inhale. Two. Three. Four. Exhale. Two. Three. Four.
Repeat.
Inhale. Two. Three. Four. Exhale. Two. Three. Four.
It's not really the breathing that helps me.
Exhale. Two. Three. Four.
It's the counting.
Inhale. Two. Three. Four.
“That should be enough,” the red-haired phlebotomist said, his army green scrubs making a rustling noise as he removed the white package emanating heat from the arm where he was trying to take blood. “You ok? Not gonna pass out or anything are ya?”
“No,” was the answer with a sigh. “I have tiny veins. I’ve been pincushioned before and I sometimes can’t control the panic. Which in turn makes it harder. Do you mind if I watch?”
“As long as you’re not gonna pass out,” he finished before descending upon him.
Exhale. Two. Three. Four.
He lined up the needle under a watchful eye. For some reason watching made it seem less painful. With a small push, the needle went into the arm.
Missing its mark for the second time.
Inhale. Two. Three. Four.
He shifted and pushed several more times before calling out for help. As he withdrew the thin metal tube, a blonde woman with thin hair stuck in the 1980s joined him. He placed a gauze pad over the barely-there drop of red that had pooled as he relayed to her what he had tried and what the phlebotomist prior to him had done. The woman stared at the arm, squinting at the tiny puncture wounds.
Exhale. Two. Three. Four.
“Move,” was all she said to the man before turning her attention to the person attached to the arm. “We’ll get this sorted out, honey.”
Inhale. Two. Three. Four.
She tied a brilliant blue band folded in half about an inch above the elbow as tightly as she could before reapplying the white bag of heat and glancing at her wristwatch.
She turned her attention to the clock on the wall behind her, saying, “When that clock is at thirteen, we’ll try again. Until then, you just relax. Want me to lay the chair back?”
A head shake was the only reply.
Exhale. One. Two. Three.
“It’ll be alright. I don’t go fishing and I don’t poke more than twice,” she attempted to comfort the arm’s owner without looking up from where the white package of heat rested.
Her attention was only drawn away from the arm when some smell began to waft through the sterile air. She looked toward the exit door.
“We ordered Chinese for lunch, but I don’t get to eat until we’re done,” the woman informed as if the arm had any power over its veins. “Are you hydrated?”
Inhale. Two. Three. Four.
A nod.
“How much did you drink this morning?”
“Forty-eight ounces,” came the answer.
The woman removed the heat and poked a thick finger around the arm. She chuckled and shook her head.
Exhale. Two. Three. Four.
“Oop, there it is,” the woman said, the muscles in her arms tensing as she reached for the equipment to attempt shoving into a vein before lining it up. “Breathe.”
Inhale. Two. Three. Four.
“Well, I didn’t want lunch anyway,” she snapped bitterly, withdrawing the needle.
Exhale. Two. Three. Four.
She looked up from the arm and to the face for the first time, which was contorted in a look of both exasperation and frustration.
“Too spicy. I’m not a fan of that cayenne pepper. What about you?” the woman said, trying to comfort the face connected to the arm as she started the warming and restricting process over again.
“I like spicy food.”
The woman nodded, removing the heat and feeling the arm.
“Last try,” she said, lining up the needle.
Inhale. Two. Three. Four.
Blood spurted into the tube and the face watched its blood poor out as one tube was removed and another attached.
One. Two. Three. More times.
Just when the face attached to the arm lost all color once more, the needle was pulled out.
“Just sit for a minute,” the woman instructed, turning around.
A gauze pad was placed over this nearly invisible hole and then the arm was wrapped with green tape.
Exhale. Two. Three. Four.
“Enjoy your lunch,” was the farewell issued from the arm’s owner before exiting the clinic.
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