Sunday, December 6, 2015

Lost Diaries: There Will Be Blood…and Urine

Thursday. October 15th

Dear Diary:

The day began like any other, which is to say with me finding ways to ruin things for the white man by making seemingly innocuous things appear racist.  Case in point: Did you know that the song used by your “friendly” neighborhood ice cream man has the same tune as an incredibly racist song from our Nation’s less-enlightened age?  No?  Well, it does. So, Ice Cream Man = racist.  What’s that you ask?  Does the fact that “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star” has the same tune as “The Alphabet Song” mean that English is the same as Astronomy? Yes. Yes, it does. [Editor’s Note: No.  No, it doesn’t.] No, it doesn’t, but you’re missing the point…Racism!  (Forget the fact that the idea of children chasing a stranger in a van down the street without parental supervision is somehow okay, because he has treats and plays a catchy tune.  No, let’s focus on the song.  You can always more children.  That’s just Science.)  What new evils did I uncover (i.e. invent)?  Did you know that “Black Friday” is so named, because the first slave in America was sold on a Friday?  [Ed’s Note: That is so not true.] Well, it is.  [Nope.]  Enjoy your flat screens. [Buy American.]

After I had reached a stopping point [Which should’ve been before he began] I got dressed and checked my appointment calendar.  On the schedule today; follow-up lab work to check my blood sugar levels.  Needed to see if things had improved since I had been diagnosed as pre-Diabetic back in July.  I was feeling pretty confident, having lost 17 pounds since the diagnosis.  (A number which has since increased to 25 lbs.  I’m using holes on my belt that I had previously thought were only for decoration.)

I made it to the Health Center 30 minutes before my appointment, as I had been fasting and was eager to begin eating as soon as possible.  Forty-five minutes after my appointment was scheduled to begin, I was called to the back.  Apparently, they had forgotten I was there.  I managed to sit there patiently without causing a stir; a skill I had learned as a child who had to walk home from school on multiple occasions after being forgotten by his parents.  (Ah, to be the middle child…Love; exciting and new)

“Sorry, we forgot about you out there!” the nurse said.

“Used to it,” I replied.

“Middle child?”


“Well, we’ll try to take better care of you from here on out.  I see you’re here for a blood and urine sample.”

“Separately, I hope.”

“Remains to be seen.  Do you have a preferred arm?”

“Well, my left arm is my ‘heroin arm’. So…”

I unbuttoned my cuff, rolled up my sleeve, and looked away.

“Awww.  You don’t have to look away.  It won’t hurt.  I’m pretty good at this.”

“I’m not worried about it hurting.  I’m a grown man!  I was just reading that notification over there to make sure I understood the standard operating procedures of this healthcare facility.”

“You mean that sign that says ‘No Food or Drink in the Lab’?”


“The one right above your drink?”

“That would be the one.”

“Uh-huh.  Well, I’m finished.  I just need to put this gauze on and you can button up your sleeve.  Leave this on for at least 15 minutes.”

Having misapplied the gauze, she had to remove it, which tugged at the hair on my arm.

“Don’t you have any band-aids what don’t give me the ‘ouchies’?!?” I asked with exactly zero tears in my eyes.

“Sorry, grown man, I do not…Unless you would like a children’s Spider-Man band-aid.”

{I stared, tilted my head, and raised a brow as if to say, “Yes”…because I was saying “Yes”.}

“Oops, it’s my last one.”


“I guess I could pick up some more on the way home.”


“Fine!” she said as she placed the band-aid on my arm.”

I clapped rapidly like a kid in a candy store…given, of course, that the kid didn’t have Diabetes.

“Anyhoo,” she began, “I’m also going to need to get a urine sample so we can make sure your kidneys are still in peak condition.”

“Am I going to need to cough at any time during this exchange?”

“Not unless you need to clear your throat.”  (Oddly enough, “Let Me Clear My Throat” was the song I had queued up in the event this examination would be…thorough.)

“Good, because, to be honest, it’s like an aerial view of Freddy ‘Boom-Boom’ Washington arguing with Mr. Kotter down there.”

“Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.  I believe in honesty.”

She led me to the bathroom where I was to provide my fluid.

“Take one of those cups, provide your sample, place it in here with the top off, and remember to write your initials on the cup…Just your initials.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on writing a haiku…Not that I hai-couldn’t.”


I followed her instructions to a tee.  Unfortunately, I followed them in the order in which she gave them.

“I had an accident,” I informed the nurse as I pointed to my shirt sleeve.

“Did you try to write your initials AFTER you filled the cup?”


“Here’s another cup.  Write your initials while I watch.”

“Whom should I make this out to?”


“To whom should I make this out?”
{Crosses arms and tilts head}
“Out to whom should I make this?” I ask in my Yoda voice.
{Cracks a smile.}

“There it is…”

I provided my sample without incident.

“Were you humming in there?”

“I find it aids the pro-cess.”

“Do I want to know what you were humming?”

“’Do It, Fluid’ by The Blackbyrds.”

“That was a rhetorical question.”

“Shoulda been clearer.”

After my appointment, I headed out to lunch since I hadn’t eaten in almost 14 hours.

“What can I start you off with to drink?”

“Unsweetened tea.”


“Yeah. I was recently diagnosed as pre-diabetic.”

“You’re a black male.  Of course, you’re pre-diabetic.  Did they also say you were pre-hypertension and pre-incarceration?”

“TouchĂ©.  Did you know the first white sale was to commemorate giving smallpox blankets to Native Americans?”  [Ed’s Note: So wrong; so many levels.]

“That’s horrible!”

“Ain’t it, tho’?”

Cue the music…

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