Monsters Don’t Live Under Beds

Part of me wishes I was more willing to use phones this early in the morning.

I probably look hell as weird with a notebook and a pencil drafting this post in the middle of a clinic’s waiting room.
It doesn’t help that I’m so sleepy I look drugged. You’d think a one hour cab ride would wake me up, but no. I’m breathing hard just to keep awake.
Breathing hard. Not a good sign, given I’m here for a medical checkup.
How did I get talked into this?

The last few days have been pure anxiety. Since they told me there’d be a blood test. I hate needles, I’ve been avoiding vaccines for five years out of pure fear, I’m super scared of them. I always used to cry on getting my shot, and this theory hasn’t been tested, but at eighteen, I probably will again. Shame.
[Spoiler: theory half-failed]
A friend once told me she’d ‘loved’ donating blood because she ‘loved the feel of the prick’. 1) Thinking back, I’m worried for her. 2) Are 6th graders old enough to donate blood? 3) Have I believed a lie for six years?
Anyway, I’m scared of needles.

We asked what they’re gonna do the tests for. A veiled way of asking what they’re gonna do with my blood.
They’re explaining mum the tests they’re gonna do, but I’m not interested. Once they have my blood, they can do what they like with it. If only there were a better way of getting my blood.

I’d once read an article on ”painless” syringes that would use pressure to numb the target skin before executing hell. In fact, I’ve been putting off my vaccinations till their arrival, but they never came.

Anyway, I’m cool with whatever they do with my blood once they have it, except use it to make little clones of me, or something. That’d creep me out like hell.


Just had it done, it must’ve been comical for the nurses. And stressful.
Mum insisted on being let into the room because I had already begun an internal freak out. I was also suffering from second-hand embarrassment on mum’s behalf.
The age may be eighteen but right then, a four year-old may have been braver than me.

The nurse even did the kid thing of trying to keep me talking and distracted and telling me not to think too much and it was alright. And “yes, I said put your thumb inside and ball up your fist, but not that hard, relax your muscles!” It must’ve taken patience.
The needle was long and thin, and one look at it and I wished I hadn’t. I also wish it had been faster, I took a breath and hung on pretty ‘bravely’—by my own previous pathetic standards—for the first two seconds, but three, four, five, and I was panicking. How much longer? There was something puncturing my veins in there!
I know, people do this every month or something. Guess I’m exceptionally chicken. I also guess I won’t be getting a cool tattoo any time soon. I’ll have to find other ways to be cooler.
I’d be a terrible junkie.

An X-ray followed soon after disaster management had played its part over my sorry case, and in contrast, I didn’t know when it even happened. Makes me kind of sad that if X-rays kill me, I won’t even know it.


Done with the rest of the tests. I’ve sort of been scribbling in between tests (and am typing it out from home after the whole ordeal took place).
I wonder if the fact that I’m half asleep is going to work against me. I’ve also got an unbending arm (Vaccine mistakes 101?).
Great. Now there’s nothing left for me to do while I wait. My options are: stare out the window watching the rain and wishing I weren’t stuck here for another twenty minutes at least, I’m immensely disliking this place; judge the other people waiting with me; eat mum’s sandwiches; relive my ordeal.
Not great options, huh.

But at the end of this, I would have lived through the thing once, relived it twice, (once on  paper, a second time typing it on a phone… ‘a’ phone, because the phone I’ve spent a blogging year and a half on, the one with my HALF MY DRAFTS ON IT, refuses to switch on. If you know me, I’ve mentioned it fifteen times)  and I bet I’ll be as much of a sissy about this when I return for my next test. Yikes.
To top it all off, I rated them “average”. Some people just feel no pain.

Doom

Woke up this morning with a feeling in my gut
That unlike yesterday, today was going to be a new start
Lay in bed, counted on my fingers to nine
For that’s all the days I have before I run out of time
Nine sure sounds like a lot! I happily snapped out of my snooze
Gotta grab that physics book left on my desk; there’s not a second left to lose.

Somehow I sit here at the end of the day
Calculating interference fringe widths has left me fringed and frayed
Get that electricity up ‘n, it’s not yet the end of day!
Though you’ve tried studying all through Christmas, there isn’t much to show
So I’ll sit and watch my hopes recede and watch the growing gloom doom grow.
And think for the millionth time that I really ought to go.

(Seriously though, aren’t the books in the picture amazing? As you know, I’m a HUUUUUGE fan of diaries like that; I can’t help drooling over the white one with the pink borders!)