"Lauren Isaacson."...I swallowed hard and stood up. "Oh...I was expecting a boy." I smiled as pleasantly as I was able, and reminded myself that this was the person who would extract my blood, the needle wielder. "Most people just call me 'Laurie'," I replied. I was seated and told to make a fist as the nurse applied a tourniquet above my elbow. She prattled on, simultaneously producing a needle attached to the largest vial I had ever seen; it must have been five inches long and the diameter of a 25 cent piece. "Where are you from, Lauren?...You'll feel a stick..." "Moline, Illinois," eyeing the vial as it plunged into my vein. "Have you had your blood drawn before?" "Yeh...a few days ago..." The vial filled and an assistant handed her another of the same size. "Uh...how much are you gonna take, anyway?" I asked, feeling strangely self-protective... "Just a little more...you have many tests scheduled..." She popped out the second vial and handed it to her assistant, replacing it with yet another, though shorter and about the diameter of a dime. It filled more slowly, almost unwillingly, perhaps. Eventually the nurse decided that she had drawn enough and whisked the needle from my vein, binding my arm securely with the gauze. "You can go to the green door now, Lauren." I smiled and departed, happy that I had one test behind me. The green door housed another form of blood test in which one "merely" had his finger pricked. I said "merely" because, in my opinion, the prick hurt much more than did the former blood test, because one's finger tips contain so many sensitive nerve endings. After having my finger stabbed, its bright red blood squeezed onto multiple slides and in miniscule vials, I was free to take my leave. As I returned to my parents in the lobby, I found the nearest trash receptacle and disposed of my reeking, alcohol-doused bandages; I disliked the odor for its strangely lingering overtones. It was amazing to me that the nurses could draw blood hour after hour; I would detest such a job; yet it was comforting that there were those who could aid humanity in such ways. Walking to my next appointment, I wondered casually whether they ever felt like mosquitoes! Holding the various appointment cards I noted that, of the remaining tests, all were X-rays except a suspicious card which read "Bone Marrow." Marrow, I knew was located inside the bone, and dreadful thoughts danced nervously about my brain. When we finally reached the desk behind which lurked the mysterious and disconcerting test, we found ourselves amid stately decor, closely resembling the impeccably correct taste of an Old English library. Hues of rich burgundies and browns, accented by marble floors and columns, marched down shadowed, slightly ominous hallways and beneath closed hardwood doors. It seemed appropriate to whisper, as even footsteps echoed through the corridors.