Vampyra

So let me tell you about my friend Katie, aka Vampyra. Katie is a nurse at unnamed surgical center. She took me back to the cubicle that was my surgical prep area. This is the area where I change into the wonderful hospital gown they love to make you wear, give you pre-op drugs, ask those last minute questions and make you sign the waiver (right after you've packed your eye glasses in the bag of personal items) absolving the medical team of all liability should things go dreadfully south when they're performing the procedure. Oh, it's also where they hook up your IV.

Katie became affectionately known as Vampyra after two failed attempts to hit a vein when hooking up my IV. I have bruises on the back of my left hand and on my left wrist that might go away before 2010. She was persistent. She dug and dug in each of the piercings in a vain (pun intended) attempt to hit the mother lode. Now I have huge veins. You'd have to be blind to miss them. If I wasn't so squeamish about needles I could easily be a heroin addict. Granted, I may have jinxed her by mentioning my fear of needles, but still, she's a fucking nurse. What is this, her first day out of school?

I had, at this point, decided that if she failed on the third attempt, I would put my clothes back on and reschedule this for her next day off. Three dry holes was gonna be my sign from God that today was not gonna be my day. Katie, sensing that she was very close to death, decided that cowardice was the better part of valor and passed the task of starting my IV off to another nurse. A nurse named Red. I took that as a good sign.