A piercing for my sister's birthday

The blood taken on Monday was followed by the instruction to revert to doing nothing  which took about as much effort as I could manage. The doctor promised to "phone tomorrow about 5.00", which he did.

When the phone rang I answered. With little preamble he asked if I was able to get myself to hospital. When? I enquired, now, he said, they're waiting for you in the triage unit.

Within an hour I was registered, undressed, labelled, tucked in and wheeled away into an acute medical ward. Here a couple of nurses tried in vain to find a vein suitable for a cannula. They were ever so lovely and gentle but six holes and six taped bits of gauze were all there was to show for their efforts.

In next to no time a lady with a laptop on a trolley was scanning my barcoded wrist band, asking me my date of birth and relieving the inside of my elbow of numerous vials of blood. This was a process with which I was about to become exceedingly familiar both in hospital and at the local surgery until the day before yesterday.

Swiftly a blood pressure monitor, temperature monitor and something else was attached and then the bloods lady was back for another few vials full. I was duly informed that my bloods were "deranged" which I thought highly probable as many had been known to consider me generally so.

About 2100 a young man in a nurse uniform passed by and mentioned that he'd come to cannulate me next. My attentive attendant told him that it had already been tried.

Next time he passed he informed us that he didn't say he was going to try to cannulate me, he was going to do it.

Next time he didn't pass by. He stopped, examined my arms, removed the evidence of previous attempts, looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and without me realising it I was cannulated.

He was the first of the truly amazing people I met.