#2 made her attempts. First attempt was on the inside of my left elbow, and it didn’t work. Then on my left wrist, then back to my right arm wrist. Then, she was frustrated. If she was frustrated, how about me?? Then she brought me a warmed blanket to put around my both arms, she said it would help to make my veins pop up.
Oh, did I tell you that I needed to have an Intravenous fluid (IV) administered into my body too? Well, so far we haven’t succeeded to administer anything, thanks to my Houdini veins.
After 15 minutes being wrapped in a warmed blanket like a hot burrito, #2 came back and made another attempt. One on my outer part of my right arm near my elbow, which failed miserably, a few on the back of my hands, then back to my left arm. I gradually lost my cool on each attempt. #2 gave up and left me with bandages, marking the spots where she made her attempts, covering my hematomas.
Then #3 came. #3 seemed to be the most senior of them all. He looked poised and confident. He tried to reassure me that all would be okay.
I shared the room with a middle-aged couple, the husband was having his intravenous antibiotic for his severe rash. I could see the pity look from their face. They seemed to forget about their problem and I could see a growing worry on their face when they saw #3 came to see me.
#3 was smooth yet persistent. Each attempt became harder and harder to bear. Left arm, right arm, back to left wrist then right wrist. I involuntarily winced and started to weep. Tears ran down my cheeks uncontrollably without my permission. I acted tough as much as I could, but at a certain point I could no longer mask how my body responded to every puncture. Yet, I continued to being cooperative.