Told You!

[erastes]

Went for blood tests. Very sweet older nurse, who politely listened to my tale of my impossible hidden veins and took as much notice as if I hadn’t spoken. “Clench this hard dear, put your arm on this pillow” and off she went, torniqueting and poking and prodding and slapping and prodding. Patiently, I sat there and watched her as she searched and searched and searched. I suggested she do the back of my hand, or my foot. She took no notice. I may as well not have been there, really. She got a needle into my right arm, no success. She sighed and moved to my left arm. Poke. Prod. Slap. Prod prod prod prod. (To be honest she was a lot gentler than many nurses who by this point were all but using riding crops to get the veins to show) she stuck a needle in my arm and …. nothing.

She looked at my Kanula hand, which treacherously had entirely healed up – curse it – and said she couldn’t see any thing there either. I tried to muffle my longing to say “I told you so.”

So she told me to go to the hospital to get them done (as she only gets three goes and has to stop) which I COULD HAVE BLOODY DONE BEFORE. So I’m off there tomorrow. I’m getting hugely sick of this.  I wish sometimes I’d been a doctor or a nurse because surely I wouldn’t turn into this homogenised arse-hole they all seem to be? The patient becomes invisible. Whilst being wheeled around the hospital for myriad tests I really noticed this. My wheeler chatted to everyone he knew en route and when we got the department he chatted to the receptionist, whereas I was parked in the corner, like I was an empty wheelchair and ignored entirely.  Surely a better experience would follow if the staff spoke to the patients? Treated them like guests or clients. Asked them if they needed anything? Spoke to them?

I think the reason why I love Alec Campion (Lord Tremontaine) in The Privilege of the Sword' target=_blank>Privilege of the Sword is that he gets away with being entirely himself. He says exactly what he wants to say, and because he’s the power in the city (in fact, if not in status) people just smile and pretend he’s eccentric or mad—or they take offence and ignore him. We stifle our impulses to be like that. It’s not a good thing. I think that rather than waiting to be growing old to wear purple, standing on my head and balancing eels on my nose, I’m going to start now. And be a lot more outspoken, too.