Props for the OCD nurse

I don’t know if I’ve officially nicknamed her in these pages yet, but I’ve talked about her. She was the one who ignored me when I was yelling out itai, for example. The one who wouldn’t stop trying to force those corn on the cob looking rolls of hot towels on me for my rub down. Now? Now? Now? Every hour on the dot, seriously that's what it felt like. That’s when I got the idea she might have some mild OCD thing going, that she might be so obsessed with schedule that she becomes a toy robot endlessly bumping against that wall till the batteries run out. Worse when she has full control over you and just ploughs through the procedure and whatever you have to say or scream.

But for this morning, at least, she wasn’t like that at all. It started because of the worst thing for me, a failed blood test. She didn’t jump to the next vein and stabbed, she worked with me, she went looking over my arms in miru dake mode (just looking, not a needle in sight), asking me if the wrist was okay, was this spot okay? I like that she didn't try to force it, cramming the needle in site by site, hunting for the spurt. She listened too when I told her the wrist was my trauma spot (the Hokuto-no-Ken golfball swelling of my right wrist). We finally came back to my wrist, but it was a little lower, and with no other vein site available except for the other side of my wrist, which might be more painful, I went with it. She got it, tap, and everything was okay. Two vials of my blood ready for the centrifuge. 

Whew.

Thank you, OCD nurse, you were not the OCD nurse this morning.