Wednesday 28 April 2010

A long and windy road to the bloods

A course of detours

Another free day but not from things that need getting done; I had scheduled going to hospital today to give some blood in advance of my third quarterly check-up with my medical consultant, I also took the opportunity to book a meeting with the Catholic pastor who has so ministered greatly to my psychological and spiritual needs.

A quick chat to the neighbours meant I missed the tram going towards the hospital which includes a 5-minute walk so I thought I’ll take the next bus and sort of jump onto another tram that would put me in from of the hospital.

I was not too sure of the route the bus would take but after a few stops, it appeared to veer off course, I disembarked and walked the road I expected the bus to ply, it had been dug up and the bus had only taken a diversion – as I got to where I expected to get the tram, the bus came hurtling by but not in the direction I wanted – what a diversion that was.

I got to the hospital only to find that the main entrance had been blocked off for some repairs, we all had to go in by the side entrance and I was just in time to meet the pastor first before going for the bloods.

Where my heart is

Over a cup of tea we chatted about the progress I had made since I last saw him, the job, the conditions, the support and other conversations I had had with my relations. As usual, he asks the most searching questions like where my heart was when I think of Nigeria, England and the Netherlands.

I know my heart is not in Nigeria but my mind really is, my blog in a way lives in Nigeria when I review how much I write about her, I feel strongly English but I do not have any inclination of returning to live there, whilst I am in the Netherlands where my home is, I love this country but I have not convinced myself that I would settle here though in May I would have been here 10 years. Something to think about I thought to myself – where is my heart?

The pastor opined my inability to answer directly might well be that I have in a way become a world citizen; I suppose I need to travel a bit more to aspire to that kind of description.

Two pricks for seven vials

The queue for the bloods was short and soon I had registered and noticed they were taking 7 huge vials of my blood, I had to keep myself together thinking of the blood-letting I was about to suffer without swooning.

My body had survived 11 weeks without a pin prick, I was not sure if I was going to be a sissy at the sight of a needle piercing my skin, I was surprised when I watched but it got stuck, there was no blood entering the vials after the second, a few more vials were tried before the nurse decided to give up on tapping that vein.

She dressed that up and rather than trying it again, she got another nurse to try, so I switched arms and had blood drawn into the other 5 vials, watching the action, I realised the vials when attached to the receptacle attached to the inserted needle seem to fill up – what I thought was capillary action was in fact a vacuum-suction process.

Once that was done, I was ready to leave; in three weeks, we should find out about the tale in the bloods again – what a long and windy road it was to get anything done today.

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