This morning, I had to go to a lab for some routine blood work. I hate blood work, (no duh). And, I can't help but wonder about the people whose job it is to prick people with needles on a daily basis, filling viles with human blood. Just so you know, the very typing of that sentence makes me queasy.
As the blood technician filled out my paperwork, she asked me basic questions; such as my name, my address, and my date of birth. Then, she paused, and asked me how many sexual partners I had in the past year. Excuse me? She then continued and asked me how many sexual partners I had in my life time. Mind you, this was not a blood test for Sexually Transmitted Diseases. (As, I started to do the math, Well let's see, I'm twenty-six, and I've been having sex for x number of years...Just kidding, I know my numba!) I began to wonder to myself, why was this information pertinent to a routine blood test? Wasn't that line of questioning a bit evasive? I sure thought so; but I answered her honestly just the same. (FYI: Not even my gynecologist asks me these questions about my sexual history). Here's the thing: No matter what your sex number is, whether it is big or small, nothing will make you feel like more of a slut-ass-hobag than baring your personal sexual stats to a total and complete stranger, who is probably judging you. Let's face it, it is nearly impossible not to judge someone based on their number; and yet the curiosity to know still remains. (For me anyway). Anywhooo...
Right before the technician was about to take my blood, I began to get really nervous. I could feel my heart starting to race, and I started to feel a little bit light-headed. Yes, I'm a big fat baby. I always get nervous before any sort of shot, blood test, (or piercing). (I've been known to faint once, twice or eight times). And, in these moments what I need is a sensitive and compassionate technician. Well, we can't always get what we want. I asked the technician how many tubes of blood were going to be taken. She sharply told me four. My heart stopped a little. "Okay, I said--I'm pretty nervous about this." The technician looked me directly in the eyes and said, "Girl, this ain't the romper room, you're twenty-six years old, cut the shit."
And, cut the shit I did. I was very brave, and on my way I went, but not first before grabbing a lollipop off of the technician's desk.
No comments:
Post a Comment