Because of my overdose on Sunday, Doctors want my blood and urine tested and to put an IV drip in me to help my liver and kidneys out.
The downside of this is that mental health Nurses are trying to get to my “petite” (aka tricky AF) veins. I don’t have a lot of faith in them to do medical duties because in my mind, they’re here to listen (the good ones do) and keep an eye on distressed patients so they’re kept safe.
Whenever I’ve had to see a Doctor or go to the Hospital in the past, my Dad has taken me. Just him and I. Always. He’s stayed by my side as medical staff prod and poke with sharp, horrible needles and when tears are flowing and I can’t see through them, Dad will stand up (literally), stand in front of me and say with great Authority “No more! Nope! Bugger off, we’ve had enough!”.
On the 4th painful attempt today, I pictured my Dad in the chair by the bed. He gave his familiar wink that has always silently said to me “You’re ok, I’m here”.
I really wish my Dad was here. I miss him sooo much.
JD, you’re 45 years old…you don’t “need” your Dad around when you have needles, you need to grow up, for goodness sakes.