what i can hold BY LAM THAO QUYEN NGUYEN
Morning. I am behind the wheel of my car driving to the first blood collection appointment. The people on the street are chaotic. Holding the steering wheel helps me gain control. Someone is signaling in front of me. That’s right; it is time to press on the brake and yield. I look up at the sky while stuck in this hectic traffic. It looks expansive and infinite, the blue color intensifying the feeling of freedom within me. I see that freedom right in front of my eyes, yet it’s unreachable. I think to myself, “Let’s keep moving up!” First appointment. I put the car into park as I look at my passenger seat: blood collection kits, paperwork, and a schedule for the day rest silently, ready to start their job. Like always, I walk to my trunk, running through my head as usual: “Gloves, tourniquet, gauze, needle, tubes, and smile. Got everything!” I have done venipuncture hundreds of times, this job keeps my hands steady; it is the one part of my life that listens when I say, “Hold still.” I walk up to the front door and knock. I love the silence that follows. A soft rap on the door, and I am inside. The house smells faintly of jasmine rice and soy sauce. “Hello, my name is Quyen, and I’ll be your phlebotomist today.” Like a script, these are the lines within my subconscious. Veins. They are streets for blood. Twisting, wrapping, and gathering unwanted waste away from each body part. At first glance, the street of veins also seem chaotic, but the circulatory system is the body's most organized and controlled map. Veins are the part of the body that offers trust to outsiders, where I’m allowed to insert the needle. My patient today has skin that’s harder to puncture, so I decide to use the butterfly needle on her hand. This, I know. I can control this. I am the master of this procedure. If only the same were true of my life.
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