how my scars prevented me from getting a successful blood draw
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cw // self-harm
When I was a teenager, I would not have guessed that cutting myself would have prevented me from getting a blood draw fifteen years later.
I expected the awkward stares and forced smiles at the nail salon during the always-dreaded post-manicure forearm massage. I prepped for the disclaimers presented with tattooing over my scars. I even anticipated the well-trained avoidance of my prominent scars during IV placements, but I never suspected that a decade of hurting myself would end up hurting me in other ways, even years after I stopped.
My veins are not only small, but they are mobile. On a good day, the nurses or phlebotomists who have the luxury of sticking me have a 20% chance of getting it on the first try and an 80% chance of poking me no less than 5 times before getting an output.
Since the hysterectomy, my ovulation pain has been so severe that it can be hard to go about my day. Between the ovarian pain, nausea, aches, chills, and cold sweats, you’d think I had the flu once every three weeks. Last month, my doctor figured it was time I got some extensive lab work to see if we could remedy the issue.
On the day of the blood draw, I gave the phlebotomist my typical spiel: Use the butterfly needle. I typically have the most luck here, here, or here. I’ll need some hand warmers — a lot of them. I’m hydrated, I promise. I’m sorry I am so complicated.
After the first failed attempt in the crook of my right elbow — the typical sweet spot — the phlebotomist suggested we scout out other places before trying again.
“I don’t want to poke you seven times,” she said.
“I appreciate that,” I replied.
All the other go-to spots were busts that day. Both hands were a no-go. We couldn’t find a place in any of the good veins inside of either elbow. Nothing on the side of my wrist.
“Have you ever tried your forearm before?” the phlebotomist asked.
“I didn’t even know that was an option.”
“Are you willing to try?”
I agreed, because I had several vials to fill and an hour before my next work meeting. I had to get it done.
She scouted my right forearm, tapping the veins she felt could be promising.
“I wanna look at the other arm first,” she said, removing the tourniquet. “Just in case there’s something better.”
There was. A bright blue, plump, ready-to-be-tapped vein ran down my left forearm to my wrist. The phlebotomist considered it, tapping it a few times before ultimately removing the tourniquet and placing it again on my right arm.
“We’ll do this arm instead,” she said, getting the needles ready. “The vein on your left arm is better, but I don’t think we’d be successful with all the scar tissue there.”
The news was particularly frustrating, especially because the draw from my right arm only proved partially successful. The vein was so small and temperamental that we couldn’t finish the draw. The output was terribly slow, making the draw incredibly long — so long that I began to feel lightheaded and a little disoriented. The phlebotomist quickly removed the needle from my arm no less than 30 seconds before I was likely to pass out, after only getting enough blood for 8 of the 10 tests. As I sat in the chair, suddenly dripping sweat, an ice pack on my chest, and a box of apple juice shoved in my hand, I’d never been angrier at my younger self.
I never expected to be here today, four months away from turning thirty, paying a mortgage, married to my best friend, and always preoccupied with our three pets. During my teenage and young adult years, I couldn’t picture myself past 18, then 20, then 22, and trying to do so felt torturous.
The consequence of surviving suicide is life. The result of learning how to live with depression is accepting that depression is something I have to live with. I am continuously discovering ways in which my past self-harm behaviors have made things harder for me today. Last month, it caused a difficult blood draw. Eight years ago, it caused ongoing conflict in my relationship. Tomorrow, it might be something as small as looking at the thin white lines under my tattoos and feeling sad that I will never know a version of myself who is unharmed by who I used to be.
write with me in new york this summer!
applications for the Interrogation Writing Retreat (Aug 15-17 in Grand Island, NY) are still open! spots are filling up (we are SO excited with how this group is shaping up). feel free to reach out if you have questions, or you can check out our faq.
poem of the week:
I love you. I miss you. Please get out of my house. by Donika Kelly
song of the week:
Side Effects by Carlie Hanson
submission opportunities for writers
lit mags/journals/full manuscripts
Black Fox Lit Mag (Deadline: March 30)
Indiana Review (Deadline: March 31)
Shō Poetry Journal (Deadline: March 31) — read my poems published by them!
Variant Lit (Deadline: April 5)
New Flash Fiction Review (Deadline: April 15)
Cicada Creative Magazine (Deadline: May 31)
residencies/fellowships
A Public Space Writing Fellowships (Deadline: March 31)
The American Library in Paris Visiting Fellowship (Deadline: April 1)
Mt. San Angelo Residencies - Virginia Center for the Creative Arts (Deadline: May 15)
all the love, all the warmth, all the light,
housekeeping:
icymi: i made a doc full of book recommendations for people who want to read more poetry but don’t know where to start!
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unfold: poetry + prose, is available on amazon, bookshop, indigo, b&n, or wherever you get books <3
you can still buy paper girl from amazon, barnes & noble, indigo, or your local indie.
i love you. and i see you. and i am so glad you're here.
who i am: a writer, a lover, and a very Black + queer person. i love deeply, forget rarely, and spend most of my time cuddling with my dog, my cat, and my partner.
who i'm not: a therapist, mental health professional, or emergency service. i love hearing the stories of your experiences, but please don't send explicit or triggering details of your story without my prior consent.
if you're in crisis, please call 911 or use any of the following resources:
National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 988
National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
Crisis Text Line: Text HELP to 741741
S.A.F.E. (Self Abuse Finally Ends): 1-800-DONT-CUT (366-8288)
Eating Disorders Awareness and Prevention: 1-800-931-2237
RAINN (Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-4673
The Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
I shared this post with a friend. It’s so beautiful and heartbreaking and most of all authentic. I appreciate you, Ari.