My heart rate spikes as she ties the rubber tourniquet around my upper arm, so tight that I feel my pulse reverberating through my fingers. Oh, God. The smell of the alcohol swab has my stomach rolling, and I can already tell this is going to be a nightmare. Am I lightheaded? Would she stop before she starts if I say I am?
Stop.
Suck it up.
I look at a spec on the white wall across the room as she inserts the needle, trying not to hold my breath at the pressure and the slight stinging pain.
Don’t think about it.
Focus on the spec.
But it’s hard to focus on the spec when all I can feel is the nauseating pull of my blood into the vials. Why is that sostrong? I must have my thoughts written all over my face, because Maeve reaches behind me to rub my back with her other hand.
“Doing okay?” the nurse asks.
“Yeah,” I rasp.
The nurse glances up at me as she removes the last vial, putting a piece of gauze where the needle is going into my arm before she carefully pulls it out. The back of my neck is warm, and so are my ears. Crap, maybe I’m not okay.
“You’re looking a little pale,” she says, standing to gather her supplies, “so I want you to stay seated until the doctor comes in to talk to you. Okay? Deep breaths.”
“Okay, yeah.” I nod, sitting back in my chair and resting my head on the wall.
As the nurse finishes compiling everything before she leaves the room, I focus on taking slow, controlled breaths. My head feels light, too light, and my ears are ringing just a bit, except this time, it’s because I’m fighting passing out.
“Well,” I rasp, “this is embarrassing.”
Maeve snickers, wrapping her arms around my left one and hugging it tight as she perches her chin on my shoulder. “It’s not embarrassing, Clark. You can’t help how your body reacts to needles.”
“Embarrassing,” I mutter quieter this time, which earns me another laugh.
“I don’t recommend ever getting a tattoo.”
My head drops from where it was leaning against the wall to gape teasingly down at her, and this only makes her laugh more. Her cheeks are tinted pink as she hides her smile, the corners of her eyes crinkled as she peeks up at me.
“Are you making fun of me?” I ask, raising a brow.
She shakes her head, but her giggling gives her away.
“Maeve—”
Another set of knocks on the door interrupts us, pulling my eyes up from the playful, narrowed look I was giving Maeve to see Dr. Hammond entering the room.
“Good morning,” he greets us, clipboard in hand, as he casually leans against the counter on the other side of the room. “Feeling better?”
Maeve clears her throat to cover another laugh, and I fight the urge to poke her in the ribs.
I nod. “Yeah, much better.”
Jesus Christ.
“Good, good,” Dr. Hammondsays before looking over the papers on the clipboard in his hands. “Okay, so I know we already discussed how long the bloodwork will take to comeback. It shouldn’t be any more than a week with the rush I put in for it.”
“Right,” I agree.
“Now, if the bloodwork comes back positive, meaning we’re clear to move forward with the transplant surgery, this could be a long, grueling process. I want you to understand that.”
The lightheadedness is gone, but only because my blood is running cold in my veins at the news. Is this going to set me back? With classes, with my degree… Will this be another thing my mother manages to ruin for me?
