This is not the door I went into to give blood. I almost should’ve gotten back in my car and moved it up another foot, but that part of the parking lot was pretty empty.
The waitress at the patio restaurant in Prescott had nicely given my friend and I refills on our large beverages, plus I’d downed an equally large glass of water, so hopefully the pros could find my elusive “universal donor” vein. And, I’d taken iron supplements for a few days — a bitter pill to swallow once chewed but dauntingly large otherwise. I was giving it my best shot.
Although a good night’s sleep as recommended had not been forthcoming, partly because the thermostat had lost its programming. Always something.
The mini physical went well. Yay. A couple of spot-on textbook numbers. Cool. Plus, a friendly masked face from a neighboring cot had greeted me by name on the way by. Nice.
There were the three pesky follow-up questions to the “rapid pass” to confirm I hadn’t be up to any scandalous activity in the last few hours. Nope. However, I am still overly amused to sign my name on a screen with my finger. Hand sanitizer at the ready.
After admitting to some pain getting the needle situated between impinging previous donations scar tissue and a tendon that was pointed out to me I was on a roll. Although the deflated fingers of a purple glove on the presumably red scrunchy ball would get a bit tangled in my fingers every dozen jerky rolls or so.
I always try to find something pleasant upon which to settle my gaze while keeping my elbow motionless. There was the simple cross setting on the piano, but I went instead for the curvy green leaves in the bottom of a shimmery see-through takeout container on the floor by a backpack from a worker’s recent lunch — looked like iceberg. I think that was consumed by someone other than the angelic gentle soul who came by mid pint to deftly adjust my needle and drop the clean white gauze back into place. No further adjustments were required to fill the final test tube. Whew.
Then I was off to the treat table where a volunteer offered up various homemade treats in little baggies plus a new commercial product for my pocket.
Driving out past the little playground and picnic area I wondered who might be having a picnic there on Labor Day — perhaps complete with homemade treats, crisp lettuce and ample refills.