Tuesday, January 29, 2008

My Blood Hates Me

Dialysis was finally over for the evening and Sarcastic Tech (not in a bad way) was removing my needles and the arterial starting shooting Blood all over the chair. Fortunately the fountain of life missed my favorite pair of jeans and good luck Converse.

I often wonder if my Blood isn't a big fan of the interior of my body. You'd think it would want to stay and continue to ride the rollercoaster of fun that is my circulatory system. My Blood is never at rest, always pumping, always traveling to the far corners of my nether regions.

Blood spotted the chair and ran down the arm rest onto the chilly lifeless floor. It splattered my arm and caused it to turn a deep ugly red. During this entire adventure I'm getting dizzier and dizzier, a whirlpool of nausea forming in the inner recesses of my belly.

I want to go home.

I often feel bad for the Blood that escapes. It's remaining existence is less than pleasant and two shades near death. From the absorbable cloth, my former Blood gets deposited in the nearest biohazard receptacle. The cells will eventually wilt and cease to exist.

This makes me unbearably sad.

Sure, I can always make more red blood cells and manufacture more plasma, but it just won't be the same. That Blood was part of the experience of my Life at this particular moment, which will never come again. It was supposed to stay with me, continue to the next experience, the next adventure waiting just ahead.

It deserved better than to be discarded with all the other bio-trash.

I will mourn my lost Blood friends until they're joined by others of their kind.

With the way my arm is acting, and the frequency of my Dialysis treatments, won't be long.

Heavy sigh.

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