Out, out damn spot!

Whoa! Not cool!

I just go stuck three times with a needle in a hunt for veins.

This is partially my own fault. I'm due to donate blood and I didn't want the nice lady Doctor to use the convenient vein I donate from since this will prevent me from donating for an indeterminate period. So after the one I used to use gave no joy she tried the back of my right hand - the veins there being fairly thick and promenant. No joy there either.

(And blimey but does a needle in the hand hurt, both during insertion and afterward.)

Finally we gave up and used the easy one. And boy, did it gush!

I was a little tense after this, but mostly fine. I had enough cute snowmen and candy-cane plasters to make make me look like a chistmas tree and a cool story to make my office mates squirm.

However I was halfway out of Sandton (Daarling) when I noticed that the plaster was feeling a little cool and soggy. I put my hand to it and looked down at my studdenly damp hand to find my fingers squelched with blood.

A brief second of panic and I rummaged in my bag-of-many-things for a tissue. That seen-too I hit upon using my stretchy, beaded bracelets as a make-shift touniquette and I walked to the parking pay-machine feeling now somewhat shaken and a little embarrased.

It's become such a total taboo these days to bleed. Blood has always had a power over the imagination, but ever since HIV and AIDs has become the modern-day bogey man blood has become something to shy from like a poison serpent or a spray of acid.

While I know I'm clean - the re-proving of that being the mission of the day on command from my insurance brokers - the man in the, er, mall doesn't and I'm behoven to try my best not to get blood well, anywhere really.

That said the royal-we are all fine now... except the hand which pulls occasionally as I type. Gym's going to be so much fun!