Colours of memories the blood test gave

Dad used to drop us off

Mum would hold my hand while we ran in

almost always late

Then we’d wait

We’d get to the desk

A lady in a blue nurse's uniform asks name?

Mum would reply Jack Rice - R I C E like the food

A few moments later she reaches for my folder

It’s the biggest one

Ring-binder covered in tattered and cracked blue card

Bulging and bursting barely held together by five brown elastic bands

She begins to tell us where the children’s ward is

but we know it better than she does

I remember it all

Down there on the left then turn right

Reached my hand out ran fingers across the smooth light brown wooden gate

as we get to the entrance the sound of the click of the lock makes

keeps the little ones safe from escape

I can tell you the exact scratchy blue fabric they use on the seats

I can name every children’s book character painted on the walls

From the yellow bricks of the wizard of oz to Harry Potter on his broomstick

It’s all in my mind, taking my shoes off to reveal grey holy school socks

As I stood underneath the red measuring thing attached to the wall

they slid down to my head to see how tall I was

took me to the faded black and chrome scales they weighed me on

Pointed on the graph the line I should be on

The nurse was always nice

The doctor was next and she really cared too

I remember everything

It was around this time it always got too much for me

Nothing has happened yet the doctor just opened one of the wipes

I would close my eyes hoping to squish myself into the darkness

Holding my mum's hand

Hoping against hope I wouldn’t cry this time

But of course

I do

The smell of antiseptic and how it brought tears to my eyes every time

The red of kids tape thing they would wrap around my arm till they found a vein

The purply blue bruise that would appear after every failed attempt

The sting the needle would bring

How long the sting would linger

waiting for more tears to be pulled from my eyes  

Every part of this ritual is painful

But its not over my skin is tender

They place some cotton wool into my skin and it stings the same

She waits for the bleeding to stop

She says ‘it doesn’t normally take this long

As if I’m a burden taking this much time

Finding it this difficult to do such a normal task

As if normal things were easy for everyone

Now I’m 23 years old

I still cry when getting my blood test most of the time

Or when I smell those antiseptic wipes

Or to be honest

Just when I think about any of it for any period of time

But one of the greatest gifts I got

from growing up having to go to the doctors a lot

Was the undeniable purity of my mum and dad’s love

They were so accepting, so understanding

They just gave me the space to feel it all

To ugly cry in the back of the car as we drove home

It was them giving me the space to feel loved

Exactly as I was and am

You see

I'm the black sheep of the family to say the least

Every nook and cranny of me is different

And sometimes that causes friction

Like how I chose to support the red team over blue

Like how I chose to go to the city instead of staying close to home

Like how my dad and brothers are all 6ft plus muscly giants

And I’m the scrawny small always choosing the opposite one

No matter what

They love me so much