Lumpy
Blood

I had to go to hospital recently for blood tests for the first time in about ten years or so. The last time I recall I was in my late teens and horny as fuck and counting on the spurious reputation of nurses, I dressed up in my finest finery for them lest they should find my condition sympathetic and want to blow me. Condition = bleeding all over them. Sexy!

I am not a haemophiliac. I have a thing called VonWillembrandts Disease. It's like haemophilia's embarrassing little brother. It tries to stop your blood from clotting but you'd hardly notice it unless you had a massive gash.

Thing is, I'm led to believe it's rare, so haematologists drool over it. I would be gladly disavowed of the notion by any medical types out there so as I can be done with the cycle of pain and angst this thing represents to me.

Now, before you break out the Kleenex, whilst this tale has a pretty sad climax coming up, I do not require sympathy from anyone. This should otherwise, hopefully turn out a decent yarn or a vilification of the medical profession in Ireland in the 1980's. I can't comment about them now except to say that their notions of how people with jobs allocate their time are in need of some revision.

At the very least, it will allow me to excise the thing once and for all as I have never detailed it in it's entirety to anyone so what better place than the tenuous anonymity of an internet forum! :)

As a child, having a medical condition was a double-edged sword: Your family and close friends treated you kindly, swaddling you even to counteract the misery and the discomfort of being a pin cushion. For most of our childhood, my brothers and I referred to Doctors and nurses as vampires they took that much blood out of us for testing.

The conditions were generally cold and cramped portacabins. The Nuns were still running the show so sympathy was not on the menu and they worshipped the doctors like Gods as they zipped in and out, performed their nefarious tasks (after we waited hours despite having appointments) and disappeared again without ever pausing for question and never once looking you in the eye, addressing you civilly or treating you like anything other than a cadaver.

In later life we learned the Mengelesque haematology professor overseeing our suffering had been dining out on his findings for some time and so was much enthused to prolong the process.

The peak of our hospital attendances came in the mid eighties around the time when the AIDS epidemic was spiralling out of control. News stories of infected blood transfusions were rife and Rock Hudson was the first major star to be pronounced to be dying of the new "gay
" disease.

I do not have HIV. Nor do any of my brothers. This is not that kind of story.

The other side of the sword is as follows: Children are cruel. When little baz and his bros arrived home early as we had been given the day off school (YAY!) to attend hospital and were already out on the street playing football as the other kids arrived home from school, discarded their rucksacks and began to play kickabout, they noticed we were all sporting little cotton buds held by medical tape in the crooks of our arms so being kids, therefore curious, they asked "Why?".

In our innocence, we told them.

Within moments, the whispering campaign had begun.

In what seemed barely days in my fuzzy childish recollection, the other kids went from childish inquiries like,

"Why do you have cotton buds on your arms?"

to

"What's wrong with your blood?"

to

"Do you have AIDS?"

to

"Are you like Rock Hudson?"

to

"HAHA You're gay!"

"You have AIDS!"

"Rock Hudson is your Da!"

"Stay away from baz, lads or he'll try to kiss you"

I was maybe, ten years old.

My nickname was now, "Aidser".

As a kid, you try to persevere, don't you? You want to play football forever and run and bike and play kiss-chasing with girls but people look at you funny now. The news is exploding with AIDS stories and even parents start to tell their kids to play away from you. It quickly became too much to bear, standing there on your lonesome playing ball or that awful fucking name spelling it out for all to see as if you were some filthy diseased deviant child from hell.

My brothers were younger. I'm not sure how much it ever affected them. We never spoke about it. I became a recluse. I buried my head in my headphones and never looked at the kids who taunted me every day as I passed alone.

I thought I had left that shit behind me to be honest but I was back in the hospital recently as my Mother's behest to *finalise* the process once and for all. Then I was back the following week. "Results in September", they say, after twenty-some-odd years of not knowing what was really going on so I have to go back again.

I fucking fainted like a big pansy. The moment the needle hit, my mind raced back to childhood and the humiliation, the taunting and never understanding why children, FUCKING CHILDREN, could be so spectacularly cruel. I had to lie down and be brought water by a little fat lady. My Mother came over all, well, motherly and told me I never liked the needles. She then tried to support me as I walked away. I wasn't that bad but it was sweet and hilarious as she's all of about 4ft11 and I'm 5ft9 and not much shy of 14 stone. Me Ma said I didn't have to go back to work. Again, really sweet but can you imagine a thirty something year olds Ma calling in sick for him?

I went back to work.

Hoped you liked my story!

If you feel yourself coming over all hugs and fluffeh, please don't as I'll probably delete the whole thing. I hate sympathy. I've skin like a rhino but jaysus have I a lump in me throat right now.

rafter!
baz
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 17:07, 10 replies)

Oh wow.
You poor thing. Children can be the cruellest little fuckers of all. Most of the time they just don't think that what they're doing is hurtful.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 17:11, closed)

Children are Evil...
That much is true!

Well written tale there, fella!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 17:12, closed)

That's f'in awful
Their ignorance was (almost) understandable - kids aren't known to question too deeply - but their parents should hang their heads.

*hugs*
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 7 Aug 2008, 17:30, closed)

awww, baz!
Big, manly hugs to you mate.
(Obviously my side of the hugging will be delicate and girlie - you can be manly.)
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 18:28, closed)

Aw baz...
I bet it made you the man you are today....so no fluffeh but lots of pats on the back.
( girlinthehole, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 19:30, closed)

Just...
...(very loud) *CLICK*
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 10:11, closed)

Rafter
Any message that ends with this Dublinese salutation deserves mucho clickiness. I've had to explain it to many folk, and it never makes sense

*pop*
(Duckeee Is nothing special, in fact, she's a bit of a bore, Sat 9 Aug 2008, 0:22, closed)

Overall... Ace!
Well written mate, and certainly worth a click so...

*Click*
(Almar wonders what will go wrong this week, Sat 9 Aug 2008, 4:29, closed)

Brilliantly written sir
You have a fantastic turn of phrase, I'm most impressed.

As requested, you'll have no patronising sympathy from me, Aidser.

*runs off*
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 12:16, closed)

afore they close this QOTW,
thanks to all who commented so kindly.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 11:53, closed)