Thursday, June 4, 2009

a four count rhythm

This is just a bit of silliness that I wrote about the process of constantly having to start new IVs in my arms over the past couple months (heeeey over-obviousing the obvious!). Please don't take it seriously.

It’s not my mother but my veins that are the fish. They lurk beneath my skin, winding and flowing and bathing and then just every so often, when the shallows feel warm and inviting, they briefly surface. And we wait, on the hunt. These moments, these intervals of luring them up to a visible depth, these are what we will wake before the sun to find, these are what cause us to grin victoriously (but silently!) when at last they happen. Those fish-veins will slither and slink but we will wait, we will get them. For we are trained in the art and practice and we know our roles and will not shrink from them. It is dusk now, a late evening in summer, and I feel them coursing through me. They’re active, they’ve become overconfident, splashing on their merry red way, and I know this window will not last. I rush to the fishery, where my compatriot waits with our gear at the ready. Then still, ever so still, this is my part of the operation, to keep the slippery things calm and quiet and unaware of their impending doom. We’ve got friendly waters today; translucent, smooth, warm. Conditions are perfect, but the things have been known to weasel away from perfect conditions before. Quiet— still— steady now— steady— and— NOW! My fellow hunter thrusts the harpoon, a clear target beneath its razor tip. But oh! The squirming thing has rolled away and swims out of sight, down to the depths where it cannot be reached. There is still hope—there has not yet been time for the fish on the other side to be alerted to the commotion. They still glide lazily about just under the surface, basking in the warmth. Again, quickly now! And this time her aim is sure. The fish-vein is hooked and tethered and struggle though it might, it will not break free. Quickly his companions sink out of sight, sorry for the loss of their brother but unwilling to linger and suffer the same fate. For now, they are safe from our hunt. We only want one. We only need the right one. But don’t you get too comfortable, oh little veins. We’ll be back for more.


Sara LaClaire said...

eee-yuck! i HATE iv's with a passion. ugh

Mom said...

I don't understand the first line about your mother (me), but other than that, I love the post. The imagery is wonderful. You are my favorite writer.

Tracy said...

Please refer to the second paragraph here.

Mom said...

Oh, very clever. If I were better read, or I guess had a better memory, I would have got the connection.