Andrea Mulder-Slater

by Andrea Mulder-Slater There were two lines at the Tim Hortons kiosk - one for those ordering bacon, bagels and specialty drinks - and another for the rest of us. As the young man behind the counter handed me my tea, I began digging through the giant expanse that is my purse. Gloves. Princess stickers. Altoids. Chocolate bar wrappers… I was one customer away from my place at the cash register when I remembered the leftover taxi fare change in my pocket. When I looked over the railing, I could see that it was turning into a busy morning in the hospital so I was glad to have arrived early. I was tired, but anxious to find out if my mom would be able to come home after a frightening 38 hours involving a blood transfusion. “One fifty-five, please.” The girl behind the counter watched my money land on the counter. She began to scoop it up and then, she stared at me.

by Andrea Mulder-Slater My name is Andrea and I have small veins. Truthfully, tiny blood vessels aren’t much of an inconvenience when it comes to regular day-to-day living. However, they can be a real hindrance when your doctor is trying to determine your B-12 levels. Take it from me; having blood removed from your body when your veins are the size of an anorexic earthworm on a cleanse, is kind of like having your tongue shoved through a drinking straw – a bendy one. A few years ago, on a particularly dismal day at the lab, I went in for a routine CBC (otherwise know as a clumsy blood collection). Soon after I sat down, a nurse (we’ll call her Kathy Bates) made three failed attempts on my right arm before moving on to the left. It appeared as though she had made a successful poke until I realized only two minuscule beads of plasma had been sucked into the syringe. “ I think I went right through ,” she said nonchalantly, before withdrawing the needle and taki...