almost too healthy.

"We're so excited you're here today," my nurse said, while she strapped that horrible thing to your arm that tests how tightly they can squeeze you before your arm falls off, and also checks your blood pressure.

"Doctor Anderson told me you were coming in, and I asked what we were doing and he said we'd need some bloodwork and I said 'Oh no. This is going to be a disaster.'"

Can we take a minute, or thirty minutes because that's how long it takes to check blood pressure, to talk about how much I hate the word bloodwork? You're a nurse, not a construction crew. What are we working on? All you're doing is taking blood out of my body. Is showering dirtwork? Is nausea barfwork? Is a traffic accident safetywork? This metaphor has gone too far but you get the idea.

"This is going to be a complete disaster." she repeated. "I told everyone in the office and we've all been talking about it all day."

The fact that a nurse I only vaguely remembered was so familiar with my phobias was only mildly unsettling and it didn't make me feel any sicker than I already felt (which was definitely barfwork level). We walked around a corner and saw two more nurses who I promise I had never seen in my life.

"Brooke!" said one complete stranger.

"Our favorite fainter!" said another complete stranger.

They held up three different kinds of juice. For some reason I chose the one that stained the easiest.

Aside from their (friendly?) threats to punch me in the face if I moved and "laugh immediately and literally talk about it for months" if I passed out again, the nurses at my doctor's office are ok. I got bloodwork done and it was not the worst thing. And they gave me the dinosaur tape and they gave me a new piece when I accidentally ripped it off in a moment of panic.

And they were really nice when I spilled red juice all over the carpet.

I don't know why they have carpet in a hospital. If I start coming any more often I'm sure they'll be switching to linoleum soon.



Anyway the good news is I'm the healthiest!

People I like when I have a bruise on my face

People who somehow can't see it

Lately I'll be talking to a stranger - a girl walking a dog, or a cashier, or a woman on the bus eating Cheez-its dipped in hummus - and I'll realize something's off: they're treating me normally. Because they have a superpower that allows them to not notice things on people's faces. These people are incredible and I never knew it until this week. I wish there were a parade for them. I wish there were a celebratory breakfast. If I become a scientist and invent a pill that simultaneously cures the hiccups and gives you a tan I will name it after these people.

People who act like they can't see it

"Hellooooooo! What a nice… earrings! Wow! Are those real diamonds? You have fantastic ears has anyone told you that? Ears are great for hearing and hearing is better than seeing, who needs seeing not me I'm not looking at ANYTHING right now not looking at anything at ALL!"

People who tell me embarrassing stories about themselves

I learned once that pets and babies are the two things that make people break social norms, but add "temporary face injuries" to that list because all lists should have at least three things. Strangers come up and tell me about accidents with baseballs and bikes and bunk beds and coworkers show me bruises they got from running into doorknobs, and holding people's hands too tightly, and trying to jump on a glass table. Both those lists have three things.

People who make jokes

Do you think you have a good joke? I would love to hear it. Go ahead and swing for the fences because guess who has been spending two hundred times as long thinking about this topic? Me! Chin-girl! I have an endless amount of material. Very few people can say that they woke up this morning knowing exactly what 100% of their conversations were going to be about. I can say it. It hurts a little to say, because my jaw is still pretty swollen. But I can.

10 million things in Portland: blood edition

I like Portland. Some people have never been. Visit Portland! Here are four of the ten million reasons you should. These four reasons are servings of vitamin-rich nutrients administered intravenously over the course of four weeks.



WEEK 1 (nurse: Linda)

Linda is shocked that this is my first iv ever in my life and after I explain how scared I am (very scared) she gives me bravery medication that takes 15 minutes to work. Before it starts to work I am polite-scared, my signature mixture of loud screaming interrupted by "Thanks again Linda I really appreciate this, I wish I weren't acting this way" interrupted by loud screaming again.

Linda puts the iv in and puts up with me as long as she can. The liquids going in are room temperature, and my body is 97 degrees, so it makes me feel freezing. Linda gives me orange juice to keep me from fainting and I spill the entire carton on myself.

WEEK 2 (nurse: Randi)

Randi laughs when I ask for bravery medication, and explains to me that I’m not as scared as I was the first time. Evidence of this is the fact that I don’t pass out on the spot when she asks if she can ask put the iv in the front of my forearm instead of on the inside of my elbow.

Linda makes an appearance, and tells me to tell my mom that she raised the sweetest most polite daughter she has ever met. I know this is just a nice way of telling me that I am polite, but later I tell my mom anyway. Linda also asks if I have a brother her daughter’s age. I laugh because I am polite and because laughing reminds me of not having an iv in me, and because I like Linda.

WEEK 3 (nurse: Jennifer)

The first two transfusions didn’t hurt at all but this one feels like a thumbtack or fencing sword lodged in my arm for an hour, and some of my blood spills onto the hospital napkin Jennifer put under my arm. She says my friend Erin isn't doing a good enough job of distracting me. I wish I had tried to barter for bravery medication. But I’m still only half as scared as the time before, and ten times less scared than the first time. Bravery math is a good way to distract yourself.

Between yells, I reminisce with Jennifer about how this gets easier every time.
“It’s scariest when you don’t know what to expect.” she agrees.
“Unless it’s scarier than anything you could ever imagine.” I whisper to her, and start yelling again. Politely.

WEEK 4 (nurses: Linda AND Randi)

It only takes four weeks of something you're terrified of before it's not as terrifying anymore. I laugh nervously, the way an insane person would laugh, when Linda puts the iv in, then watch Seinfeld episodes on a laptop and only feel paralyzed with fear once when my iv cord gets tangled with the headphones. My veins feel cool and refreshing, like I just drank a Coca-Cola with my soul.

"This isn't scary at all!" I tell Randi as she takes out my iv for the last time.
"...she says as she winces and squirms in her chair." says Randi, who is no Linda.

My hospital bracelet rakes in compliments faster than my heart pumps fresh blood through my body. I'm not taking it off for one million years.

infused with sriracha and chocolate milk

We're always looking for new experiments to do and the latest is four weeks of… infusions?

There's been some debate about whether it's a blood transfusion or an infusion and I'm going with infusion, because I think it's the right answer and because it sounds like a day spa. A day spa that pumps you with fresh warm blood from a stranger and sucks your old news blood out into a plastic bag for an afternoon while the side effects make your veins itch and make your lips cold and make you dizzy and imaginative for hours. Or that's what I read. Reading about medical procedures online before they happen is the worst thing you can possibly do, because it makes it feel like you're getting whatever terrible thing done a thousand times instead of four times. 

I feel pretty ok already, but my doctor says I don't know what pretty ok feels like. After a few weeks of... infusions, I'll feel ten times better than I feel now. Ten times better! 

All these years I've been operating at ten percent capacity - no one has ever seen extra-strength Brooke before. I'll be able to run for years, my jokes will be so funny, I bet I'll finally be able to do that thing where you make your tongue into a straw. I can't wait. And while I'm waiting, I can't stop reading these descriptions online.

Look how that picture breaks up the text!