About a week ago, I was informed that Wednesday I would meet Peter, who is in charge of making sure the Americans have everything they need, at 7 a.m. to go to the doctors. First thing, 7 a.m. is way too early to be ready to go. Well, I suppose being ready at 7 isn't so tough as I have zero period tomorrow (which is at 7:20). Anyway, I met Peter and two other new teachers and we walked to a bus stop and headed toward the doctor's office.
Now, I didn't learn until the day before that they had to get a blood sample. I am terribly afraid of blood tests and anything that has to do with needles. Sitting in the waiting room, I tried not to think about what was going to happen. Not thinking about it was quite easy; I was perplexed with the music that was coming from the stereo. The music was really bad American 80s music.
Anyway, Peter told me that I was the first to go in from our group. I walked into the doctor's office and sat in a chair and pulled up my left sleeve. The doctor motioned to me that I had to flex my arm a few times to get the blood flowing. The doctor tied a rubber band around my left bicep, and then I saw the needle. Now, I am used to getting worked up about getting blood taken and nearly passing out and sometimes wishing that I would just pass out so the pain would be over, but I have never hyperventilated in a foreign country.
The doctor said something like, "will you faint?" And I say, "Nie" (which is no). Then she asked again, and I said maybe, so they had me lie down. Then the doctor did the blood test and all that, and I was totally out of it. My body was very white. I looked at my hands and they lost all color. Then the doctor kept asking, "Cafe," and I kept saying, "Nie, nie." The only thought that went through my head was how much I hate coffee and how that would not make anything better. Then the doctor asked if I wanted tea, and again I said no. Then I remember the Slovak for water (voda), and said that. Peter, who was in and out of the room, said the doctors wanted to take my blood pressure, and I kept thinking, "there is obviously something wrong with my blood pressure. You don't have to take it to figure that out." Then when they were about to take my blood pressure, I sat up and said I was fine, even though I wasn't, I just didn't want my blood pressure taken.
After I don't know how long, I realized what was wrong: they took my blood and said I couldn't eat that morning. I suppose I forgot to mention that.
Today in class I was talking to my class about how stories have purposes to them, so I guess I should be a good storyteller and find a purpose of this story. Not knowing the language where you live is bad, and what also is bad is getting blood drawn, and what is ever worse is experiencing both at the same time.
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