By Nicolette Mallow
Over the past eight years, I’ve had my blood drawn enough times that all the vials taken from my veins could fill the freezers of an ice cream truck. It all began when I was a teenager and had horrible acne all over my face. No medicine was working or clearing up my skin. I felt more and more insecure at school as my complexion worsened. But there was one solution: Accutane. Accutane is a medicine that is harder to come by these days. Few dermatologists will prescribe it since it’s potentially harmful and only used for severe cases of acne.
I started taking Accutane because I saw the beautiful results despite the one unpleasant regulation that made me hesitant about trying this miraculous drug. I feared Accutane because the one horrid stipulation with taking it was that I had to get my blood drawn every month. And because I was on it for six months at a time, three separate times, I was getting my blood drawn quite frequently.
The first time I had my blood drawn, I felt as if I were going to pass out. My body felt numb, nervous and was lightly shaking as I looked at the needle and tube that would be inserted into my arm. The idea of my dark, red blood cells coming out of the veins in which they were happily resting made me unhappy and anxious. Blood is supposed to stay in the body, not pour out for everyone to see.
Unfortunately for me, I have thin, small veins that roll when penetrated with a needle. I’ve accepted the fact that, regardless of my age, my veins will require pediatric-sized needles. At first glance, my arms appear vein-less, like a doll. I envy those whose veins protrude like inflated tubes of air; it would make this process easier. Often, nurses have to treat my arm like a pin cushion to find the right vein, which leaves bruising, swelling and the occasional hematoma.
Getting my blood drawn can be quite the ordeal with nurses who aren’t experienced with patients like me whose arms look barren of blood. I was once prodded five times before the nurse found a flowing vein. And years later, now that I’m off Accutane and I’m dealing with other medical issues, I still have blood drawn. But by now it’s routine, and I think little of it.
In the past, I disliked the way the nurses were eager and excited to draw my blood, like they took great joy in extracting my bodily fluids. I disliked being pricked with a needle. The sight of blood pouring into the glass vials made me feel faint and weak at the knees.
But now — after years of medical appointments, three surgeries and endless procedures — getting my blood drawn is strangely fascinating. I now watch the needle enter my skin and draw out the blood that will be used for various testing. I admire the delicate craft. I’m always mesmerized by how dark my blood actually is. Blood no longer makes me feel light-headed, and maybe someday the doctor’s will stop wanting so much of it.
