Stealing Pulse

Chapter 3

I steal blood from people. Its not how it sounds, though. When I'm in the hospital for things, I always get blood put into me. The doctors say its a blood transfusion and I know this already and they know I know this and yet they still tell me. Every time. I'm A+ blood type. I think its cool I know my own blood type, but its not like Im gonna walk around shaking hands saying "Hi. I'm A+, what about you?" I actually did that once, but it was to another patient. They laughed and understood the joke. I mean, everyone here has to know their own blood type. 

So much blood. All the day I see it. I close my eyes and I see it. I open them and I see other things. I wonder if everyone bleeds when they are really very upset. I bleed sometimes when I'm upset. I cry a lot too. I hope you don't think I'm a bad person, it just helps. I'm not allowed to bleed anymore though. Its not even my blood to bleed.

Hope is one of the most wonderful, delicate things on the planet.

Its also is one of the most dangerous. For example. I'm sitting in this weird chair, the vinyl sticking to my thighs. I'm a little sweaty because I feel dirty and I haven't washed my hands. The nurse's name is Judy. I'm not kidding it really is. She smells like grandma-perfume and its oddly comforting. She is also holding about six tubes and a needle with a syringe and a small pipe on the end of it. She takes out the rubber-band and ties it around my arm so that my blood vessels will show. Mine are pretty deep, so it takes a minute for it to surface to the top, blue and bulging. Then comes my second favorite part.

Judy tears open the little white package that has the 'ethyl alcohol' label on it, and swipes it over my pumping vein. "This is going to pinch a little, you might want to look away," she says. But I don't look away. I watch as the needle penetrates my skin and punctures the vein. Immediately the blood flows, dark red, through the pipe and into the tube labeled "t cell count." The other five tubes I will fill up in the next couple of minutes. After this, Judy takes all the tubes filled with my blood into another room for testing.

She comes back to give me a bandage. I choose the one with a smile on it. She smiles at me too and tells me I can go back to my room. 

Now I'm laying in the stiff hospital bed and this stupid paper gown is on me. I don't really know why I have to wear it. My doctor (we'll refer to her as Dr.Montgomery for her privacy) already knows how I feel about this particular garment, but she insists that I must follow protocol, even though I'm here a lot.

So I'm laying in the bed waiting for my results, counting the bumps of my heart on the scanner. Im at 22 right now. 23...24...25...26...27...28... Dr.M walks in, 29...30..., "Your results are back," she slips in the door. 31...32...33...34...She walks over to me slowly, and I think, I hope, I whisper "Please be good" 35...36 I look away. 36 is a good number. Six times six. Three times twelve. I like those numbers. She's really close to me now. I can feel her hand on me, but I don't want her to touch me. "You are going to need to keep taking this,"she states as she hands me another orange prescription bottle. Damn. I feel like hell. I realize she's waiting for me to acknowledge her. I nod my head. She walks out and I almost cry.

Hope is a dangerous thing.