Bleeder

I don’t like shots. I am afraid of needles and would prefer not to have one. This isn’t particularly unique, I believe. I am assuming most people don’t enjoy getting a shot. Now, I should say that when I speak of shots I am speaking of flu shots. My guess is that as shots go the flu shot is the little brother of the shot family. And it’s not the pain of the shot, but the build-up in my mind.
I went in for my yearly flu shot and my ritual was the same: take off the shirt, turn my head and grip the chair.

This is what followed:

Nurse: Slight pinch.
Me: (tighter grip)
Me: (felt slight pinch) (I should say here that I was surprised that she put the needle in the center of my shoulder. Typically I receive the shot in the back of my arm.)
Nurse: Yep, you’re a bleeder.
Me: Pardon?
Nurse: You’re bleeding.
Me: (nervous laugh) rr…really?
Nurse: Holy crap! You are really bleeding.
Me: (Now, at this point I thinking, ‘this is ridiculous, how much can I possibly be bleeding? And despite her judgmental tone, this really isn’t my fault. I’m just a guy trying his best to avoid the flu. I’ve never bled before from a flu shot; and frankly, I don’t appreciate the label “bleeder.” I am more than someone who bleeds from flu shot. Is this where we are in doctors’ offices? Calling people “bleeders?” It’s a little 4th grade.’)
Nurse: I will clean you up.
Me: Um, thank you… (It did occur to me that in this circumstance I think she would be the one responsible for my clean up – just for the record.)
Nurse: (placed band-aid on arm, placed shoulder in harness and sling and sent me on my way.)
Me: Um, thank you.