Diane’s nails are always amazing. And she has never hurt me once while drawing blood, even when she does the hard-core all inclusive panels. She’s called me “baby” from day one. Her weave has gold tints in it, and her nails have a similar tone. They are not as long as Sheryl’s, which figures since Sheryl doesn’t mess with the needles. Her dentures click a little when she talks and her eyes are kind. She tells me where to sit each time, even though there is only one sitting option, I find comfort in the direction.There are two angels. Diane is a phlebotomist. She likes her spiritual time. Sheryl does the front desk paperwork. She’s mostly irritated. They never remember me, but I always remember them. They both wear wigs. Huge ones with no shame in their game. Like they barely had time to clip a weave in the car on the way to work. Sheryl is all business. I’ve seen her have bad days where she has to pop off at people to get them in line, and on days when the “system is down” and I know she wants to explode. She never does though.
One day Sheryl didn’t wear her huge weave, she just had a cloth cover-wrap pinned on her head and I knew her morning must have been rough. Then her son called while she was checking me in and she tells him how much she loves him and she hopes he gets the job. Diane asks her who is keeping the baby. She rolls her eyes and says “don’t even ask.. that took all morning.” That’s the first day she ever referred to me as baby. Her nails were painted blue that day and the cloth wrap she had on her hair was tan.
On Good Friday we talked about Easter and she told me about everything she was cooking and who was coming to her house. Her niece was driving in from Temple as were her daughters from Houston. She goes to the early Service and is home before 11:00 a.m to get things ready. I always look at her gold crucifix. It matches her hair. Everyone at her Easter gathering has to leave by 5:00 because that’s her time to relax. This isn’t an “oh i’m so sassy” kind of declaration. Diane talks to me about her higher power. Blood travels from my arm to the tubes and it's a primal ritual. The vagaries of life swirl through pedestrian tenderness of two angels, and I wonder why it means so much to me that they call me baby. And each time I leave with feelings of redemption and misty eyes.