The Blood Test

NUMBER 83!

That's me!

I rushed into the little room where the male phlebotomist sat by the table, calmly writing down something on a piece of paper.

My doctor had asked me to get a blood test - for the gastric pains that I have...just in case I have ulcer...or something like that...

I wasn't expecting a blood test for gastric pains so I didn't come prepared. I was hoping to get that lady phlebotomist sitting on the opposite side of the large room...I had my little fleece sweater on - I hesitated a while because no way he was going to get to the upper part of my arm while I'm still wearing this thing..

The thing was...underneath the sweater I was wearing an even tinier little white top....pretty indecent for other people's eyes, not that my boobs would be spilling out of them once I take off my sweater but...I'm not used to showing off anything more than the skin on my face and hands...

So...camno?

I looked at the man again..he was writing something on my form...he looked like a mat saleh..although as I gave him a second glance, I changed my mind - maybe European kot....

OK lah..what to do...my sweater had to come off.

After struggling to appear modest even as I bend and twist myself out of my sweater, I waited for a few seconds, before asking him, well, to cover my awkwardness really, and you know...just to make some conversation...

"You're going to do it here, right?" I said, confidently, pointing at the upper part of my Michele Obama - NOT!- like arm.

He glanced to where I was pointing at and smiled, kindly.

"No..that's where they give immunisations. I draw blood here," he said, pointing his finger at the crook of my arm - the part where normal people would have exposed easily by folding a bit of their sleeve without having to take off any piece of their clothing....

"Ohhh!!!!" I said a little sheepishly, a lot embarrassed.

My face felt hot as I awkwardly put on my sweater again. But as usual, when I feel embarrassed, my smile gets even wider - until you can see all the way to my brownish coloured molars (courtesy of the antibiotics administered to me when I was small - cost me a whole lifetime of sepia tinted smiles).

But...s'okay.....no harm done what...this man doesn't care...he's mat salleh WHAT..........

The man kept his eyes down, his hand busy writing on the form...it sure takes a long time to fill up that form, I thought.

But maybe he was kind enough to give me some time to compose myself...after taking my clothes off in front of him for no reason...

The man was finally done with the form. He took out a long needle. Now it was his turn to make conversation - presumably to calm me enough for him to do his job.

"So are you from Malaysia, SISTER?"

Damn.

The term 'sister' obviously means that he's a muslim. And the fact that he's heard of Malaysia...


Sah.

Malunya aku.

Somehow it wouldn't be too bad if he was a non muslim...the fact that he knew that I felt exposed made me feel even more so. Me and my modesty...and I ended up with the worst case scenario.

My face felt warm again and my molars flashed dully.