On Friday, the IV which had been in position since Tuesday began to infiltrate, wherein the IV solution no longer ran only into the vein, but into the surrounding tissue as well. My hand started to puff, swelling into a spectacle which was twice the size of my other; with all of the misdirected solution seeping into the tissues, I also began to feel an annoying tightness which pained me when touched. I hoped that something would be done to alleviate my discomfort, without the expense of additional anguish, for at times, a remedy invited unforeseen unpleasantries greater than the one with which a patient was currently battling. Dr. W. was called in the room to start a new IV in my other hand. I hoped it would not be an ordeal, and remained silent as the probing began. Aiming for a vein, the doctor edged the needle through my skin and missing his target, attempted to strike it again and again by manipulating the direction of the needle. I looked on, wincing, trying desperately not to think at all. His method was not succeeding, and he withdrew the needle to make ready to try another vein. Shifting his position, he pierced through the flesh, striving for another site. The vein rolled about, eluding the valid efforts of the doctor, and once again, he pulled the point from my hand to ready himself for his third attempt. I was holding my breath, uncertain how long I could withstand the slow, methodical jabbing. The needle was again thrust beneath my flesh, poking back and forth as each try was foiled; in exasperation, Dr. W. pulled the needle from my hand, stating resolutely, "I'm not going to hurt you again!" and fled the ward in search of another doctor to fill his duty.