I cannot believe I cried uncontrollably today when the petite and benign-looking nurse of Tan Tock Seng was extracting my blood for my thyroid blood test.
I don't recall having ever cried because of a needle before. I believe it was her fault for not propping my arm in the correct position prior to piercing my skin, hence creating the tension in my muscles which prevented the blood from flowing freely. When she the needle drew little blood, she pulled the vacuum syringe harder and readjusted the direction and depth of the needle while it was still in my skin. I bet I have multiple punctures in that single vein now.
I had decided to play it brave today and face the needle as it punctured my skin (I usually don't look until I know the needle is well inside and the blood is flowing satisfactorily into the hungry vacuum syringe). Although I had some premonition that I would regret witnessing the skin-bursting process, I paid no heed to my natural psychological logic.
When she drew tears instead of blood, she decided to try my other arm. Even as she was working on my other arm, the previous trauma was too great and my tears persisted. I was sobbing like a self-pitying child.
It was awful. My eyes and nose were all red. There was I in my teaching/working clothes and crying over a needle while three children half my height were playing just outside of the open room I was in.
The nurse consoled me, gave me two super-strong serviettes to soak my tears and consoled me again. Her pacifying consolation tone only made me cry even more. It made me feel so child-like and vulnerable. She suggested that I remained in her room for another 5-10 minutes to calm myself down first -- an offer I gladly accepted since I didn't want to walk out into the waiting area with two plasters on my arms and an obviously post-crying face.
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