Keeping Poe’s quote in my own mind, and knowing you learn the most when you go to extremes, which makes for an enriching life, I actually tried paying close attention to all details of my visit. It wasn’t long before my name was called, and I went to the front. The receptionist was young, fair skinned and kind of mousey, but cute at the same time, with her nose into her computer, barely making eye contact me behind her round glasses as she took my information. Claire said her badge. I like that name. It makes me think of Claire Danes, who I view as gentle and loving - Shakespeare’s Juliet, with angel wings.  

 

While sitting in the waiting room I got my first look at a vampire - the phlebotomist. She came from the door hiding the bloodletting rooms and called out, “Shay”, with no emotion. A middle aged man of some ethnic descent went to the door, and before it closed I could hear the phlebotomist say “room #1” in a curt voice.

 

I kept an eye on people exiting the door as well. Not that I was expecting them to be beyond Pacific Northwest pale, or shriveled up like a prune, but I wanted to see if anyone felt slight, or looked really lethargic.

 

I mentioned I don’t like giving blood?

 

A few minutes passed before the same phlebotomist came to the door. “Phil”.

 

I went through the door, finally able to see the area, three door-less rooms, all with big green signs above them, in a short hallway.

 

“Room #1”.

 

“May I use the restroom first, please?” I politely asked.

 

Was I expecting a contest from her, that she was in a big hurry and I’d have to tough it out? Maybe a glance that I was wasting her time?

 

“Absolutely. It’s right there.” She said, pointing the way a room behind me.

 

At this point it may have been nerves as much as anything, but I did try to go, and succeeded.

 

After that, it was into Room #1, to the phlebotomist who was buried in papers. “Have a seat”, she casually said.  

 

For being really introverted, I can be a chatty Cathy when nervous. I often try to push some humor through, maybe an inner jester, aiming to disarm who is in a position to harm me. I told her I didn’t care to have this done, but if she gives me the cue to look away, I’ll turn away and talk about my home state of Oregon, if she doesn’t mind me babbling on, as that would help me.

 

“Oh that’s fine.” She says.  

 

"You don’t even have to pay attention.” I say.

 

She laughs a little. My inner jester is working.

 

I then get a look at her name. Ashley. I don’t like that name. Sounds like ashes, or ash. Like soot from a chimney. Fitting name for a vampire, I tell myself inside.

 

Then she asks a peculiar question, “Have you ever fainted?”

 

“No.”

 

There’s a pause.
 

I’ve felt a little light headed at times, standing up too quickly, or on roller coasters, seeing stars. I let her know. But no, never on a blood draw, that’s for sure.

 

“We always ask.”

 

As I’m not entirely sure how this works, I wonder if something other than normal check mark precipitated her question.

 

“Are you taking a lot of blood?” I ask.  

 

“Um, kind of.”

 

Kind of? Kind of? How much is kind of? A pint? A quart? My brain thinks back to former cyclist Greg LeMond surviving a shotgun blast in a hunting accident and losing over two quarts of blood, but surviving. They can’t take that much, can they? But LeMond was a 25 year old world-class athlete. Not a once athletic, now middle-aged, slightly overweight, over-stressed, mortal who spends his time sitting in front of computer screens, not sitting on bicycle seats for a living.

 

I realize the absurdity of my thought, and try to relax anyway as she puts the band on my right arm, and tells me to make a fist.

 

It’s not doing what she likes. I can tell as she pushes in a few places in the crook of my arm.

 

“The last place I went had a ball they had you squeeze.” I nervously interject, almost desperately trying to help.

 

"We don’t have that. Just making a fist is fine.” She casually says.

 

My inner jester tries to rescue me, “I can imagine I’m squeezing one if that helps.”

 

She chuckles just a little.

 

“Let’s try the other arm.”

 

This isn’t good I think. I don’t like this. I want it to work, be easy, painless, and done with it.

 

She moves to the other arm, puts a band on it, feels around and has me make another fist, and after poking determines it will work better.

 

“Okay, turn away, and tell me about Oregon.”

 

I turn away, and after a breath, out it comes, “Oregon is a pretty big state, bigger than all of New England combined. On the west side it’s very green…”

 

And she sticks me. Ouch. this actually hurts more than any other blood draw I have ever given. There is sharp shooting pain going down my arm towards my hand. I let her know.

 

"Hang in there, you’re doing good and it will go away.” She tries to calm me.

 

"Ouch, okay.”

 

“Tell me more about Oregon.”

 

I start to tell her about my home, and sure enough the pain does start to go away, mostly. Now it’s just uncomfortable, stressful, and I just close my eyes.  

 

“Oregon’s west side is filled with evergreen trees, most Douglas fir trees, from the valleys all the way up to the mountains, which are big and have glaciers on them. Very majestic. And there are waterfalls.“

 

"I like waterfalls.”

 

“There are many there…”

 

I don’t notice at first, but it seems as though there are obvious pauses in my speaking.

 

“Are you doing okay Phil?”

 

I feel kind of cold, tired, but I’m here, just keeping my eyes closed, waiting for it to end. “Yeah…okay.” I utter.    

 

“Keep telling me about Oregon, and the waterfalls.” She says.

 

“Oh yes. There are a lot of waterfalls there…all throughout the forests…”

 

“Hang in there Phil. Do you feel faint?”

 

“…I guess. I’m really tired. Hot. Cold. Are we done?”

 

“Last vial.”

 

“Okay.” I utter.

 

Cold is what I meant to say. But it’s strange like I’m sweating, but I know I’m cold. It’s quiet. I like the quiet.

 

“Claire!”