Owning our actions

For a few days I've been mulling over a certain situation, not realizing why it bugged me so. Let me tell you what happened.

Once a year, I have to have a blood test. So off I went to the clinic, or whatever it's called (senior moment there!). It's never a particularly pleasant atmosphere to walk into, but last week it was worse than usual.

While I was waiting, a nurse emerged from the imaging section and called my name. No-one responded immediately, so I started to get to my feet. As I did so, and (more) elderly woman sitting close by looked startled and began to move. Realizing we had to share the same surname I told her 'it had to be you' because I wasn't going there.

Forgive the digression...

Not long after, my full name i.e. not just Mrs X, was called, and in I went, quite happily. The thing is, I'm not squeamish about having a blood test, unlike my poor husband who gets dizzy and almost faints. I wasn't welcomed, but simply told where to sit. Nothing else. The needle went in, feeling as if it might have been a tad blunt. Okay. I know the practitioners vary very much. Some are so skillful you feel the veriest prick, and others not.

Obediently, I held the knob of cotton over the small puncture until she taped it. Then she said, "Don't lift anything with that arm because it'll cause bruising."

Hmm. Interesting. I didn't lift anything in particular but, dear readers, I have a patch of very yellow, green and blue skin on the inside of my elbow.

You are free to draw your own conclusion!