8 HOURS LATER:
Well, guys, I’m back from the hospital. Quite a night, I tell you! The nurse told my mum and me that because of my age, they will give me an IV. “The mask often makes children feel as though they are suffocating…” Of course that went over well! Ha! They tried to convince me. I wanted the mask! I hate IVs. The nurse promised me she’d only poke me once and not put me through any more anxiety. She put numbing cream on my hand
and where my elbow bends. 30 minutes later, she came back with the needle and straw-thingy. She poked once and the needle burst. Then a doctor with a Russian accent came in and attempted to flip my arm to give me an IV near my elbow. Yeah, no thank-you, but nice try!
I refused and yanked my hand away. I felt like a baby, but I didn’t give a stick; they were not going to give me any IVs. So, frustrated—not to mention myself—the doctors wheeled me into the OR. There, I was met by doctor Karjoo (Car· shoo), dressed in his blue uniform and sanitized gloves and paper mask. A tiny plastic mask lowered over my face…
An hour after, I awoke sobbing. I couldn’t understand if I was dreaming or I was in reality. Everything was spinning. When I got back to my room, I felt loopy and kept repeating things. And guess what? There was an IV drip in my arm and they had wrapped it in gauze so I wouldn’t see it. That nurse had lied to me. She poked me a total of three times! Oh well; I’m better now. And wow, did I hug daddy! I had talked to him on the phone a bit while in the hospital, but I had been so loopy, I sounded drunk. My words had been slurred and… man… I felt w-e-i-r-d!