Good vs. Bad Bacteria

It is an epic war that has claimed many. No one can remember how or why the fighting began. All they know now is war, a war like no other. A war between light and dark, right and wrong, good bacteria and bad bacteria… at least that is what the doctor told me.

He might have used the much more medical term ‘stomach bacteria’ to describe my recent tummy troubles but I knew what he really meant. I imagined little bacteria in little World War I planes dog fighting over the stomach acid lakes while below bacteria soldiers clashed on half digested hamburger hill, locked in deadly combat. My mind started to provide the sound affects and voices for all the tiny bacteria like an eight year old playing with his toys while the doctor continued to go into more detail.

“Everything you have described would seem to indicate stomach bacteria.”

Boom!… “Argg!”… Pew, pew… “Noooo! My cytoplasm!” clang, clang, Bang!

“I can already prescribe you some medication.”

Pew, pew, Kaboom!… “Tell my wife and 7 million bacteria children I love them.” Bang, Bang. “Agghhhhh!”

“You’ll need to take one a day for two weeks.”

Pew, pew… “Who’s in charge?!”… Pew, pew… “I thought you were in charge!”… Kaboom! “Aaaggghhh!”

“But I want to send you for a blood test…”

Pew, pew…
Hu?… Wait! What? Blood test? Needles! No! No! No!

I really don’t like needles.

“Just to confirm what kind of bacteria we are dealing with. In case we need to adjust the medication.”

What kind? Could he not see that it was clearly the work of the evil 3rd infantry bacterial unit led by the infamous General Grober van Bakterien? There was no time for blood tests. Good bacteria were dying. I was starting to question if this so called doctor had ever been to medical college.

I thought about telling him this for a moment but decided to keep my over active imagination to myself. Especially since he seemed like a man who had easy access to other needles that could be used to sedate ‘the crazy patient’.

It was time to bite the medical bullet. I might not like needles but it had to be done… for the troops. After all, how bad could it be?

The blood test (or as it shall know be known; “The Quest for a Vein”) took several attempts. Neither arm was spared a few pokes.

On the first attempt my right arm only produced a few drops of blood which apparently was not enough despite my belief that any small amount of blood taken from my body is more than enough.

On the second attempt my left arm produced even less blood. As the lady with the needle continued to poke around inside on her search I started to wonder if I actually had any veins.

On the third attempt I started to question if I even had a pulse.

And on the fourth attempt I was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief when she finally found the elusive vein and the blood started to flow, confirming that I was actually still alive and did not need to apply for zombie citizenship.

I was sent on my way without so much as a lollypop for being a brave boy. However, I did not leave without a souvenir. I was left with two huge bruises on the inside of both my elbows (where the blood was taken) which makes me look like a victim of domestic violence. This is incredibly unfair to let people think since my girlfriend was comforting me the whole time by letting me use her hand as a squeeze toy in what I can only describe as a death grip. That is why I have been telling everyone I walked into a door.

To be continued in: Mix Up At The Chemist