Okay, turns out I should have been afraid of the needles. Dr. Curly, I’ll call him, was fresh out of med school (or maybe not quite yet). One glance at his baby face and I understood why parents used to hold their children closer when they saw me standing in the front of the classroom, looking like a 14-year-old teacher. Dr. Curly positioned me in a chair with my arms on a machine and then crouched on his hands and knees, angling his head under the machine, to attempt a foot IV. For my wrist problems. Sadly, it didn’t take. More sadly, my vision got all spotty and my face went numb and my stomach flipped and I uttered meekly, “Going…pass out.” I spent the next 20 minutes with my head down, bringing it up only long enough to whisper the same sentence and think how lovely Earth was when I was still on it. When I was ready again, Dr. Curly apologized as he stuck an IV in my arm and, seeing my face lose all color, kindly brought me a garbage can, “just in case.” Aw, Curly. You shouldn’t have.
I was right to bring Mom with me, even though it became apparent she only scored one point higher than me on the Placement Test for the Directionally Dumb. Still, she yelled appropriately when I almost went through a stop sign, inches away from a biker. We both made a lot of wrong turns once out of the car but finally made it to the elevator. We pressed the down button, waited patiently, got in, and pressed floor two. The doors promptly opened, letting us know we were already on floor two. “Idiots,” it said as it closed went off to do loftier things, I suppose.
Can’t wait for tonight…we’re inviting the neighbors over to watch me glow in the dark.