So, I have to get my blood drawn for my new health insurance plan, which is called "Fit For Life" (or, according to my mom, "They want to find out if you have HIV"). Ha! Anyway, I am not a fan of having things extracted from my body through needles. I have always been a complete pussy in this regard, refusing, even as a child, to buck up and be a brave little soldier. I am a cowardly little soldier. There, I said it.
A few things: One, It is not advisable to watch Gia, the HBO biopic about a heroin-addicted, horrible death by AIDs-experiencing supermodel, on the eve of a blood test. Two, the employees of the Quest Diagnostics location on Pierrepont Street do not appear equipped to make a cup of coffee, much less perform tricky needlework (and they pronounced my name 'Ann,' a sure sign of trouble ... and the inability to read). Luckily, they didn't know how to do the paperwork that came with my "Blueprint for Wellness" kit, so I was sent off to give my blood elsewhere. Now I have to wait anxiously for another 22 hours. I think it's the rubber tie things that freak me out. I hate having circulation cut off ... even blood pressure cuffs make me feel queasy. At least my squeamishness ensures me a heroin-free lifestyle. Silver lining!
I wish my old doctor was still alive. He died of lung cancer some years ago, and when I was a kid he used to smoke while examining me (ah, '80s health codes). His name was Dr. Rocchio and even though he was a pediatrician I went to him until college. It was a little awkward in the adolescent, breast- and pubic hair-growing phase, but I stuck it out, because he was funny and also because he never made me get shots or have blood drawn. On one visit I remember he simply pushed me, and when I didn't fall over he said, 'Ah, you're OK.' Awesome.
Nowadays I see a very nice but kind of frazzled doctor in Brooklyn who I chose solely based on her name (I didn't really feel like doing research). The only problem is that I have to book an appointment approximately two years in advance in order to get any face time with her. And she has so many patients that she never remembers who I am. But such is healthcare nowadays. Poor Dr. Rocchio was too good for this world.
I'm rambling, so I'll finish with a non sequitur, namely, WHY DO ALL TURNSTILES TELL ME 'NO TOKENS'?? Who is stockpiling tokens???? There aren't even any SLOTS for tokens, so even if some dumbass decided to break out his commemorative 1988 stash, he wouldn't be able to put them anywhere. WHY, turnstile, do you insist on insulting my intelligence?
That is all.