Seven Days In Hell By Heather

Seven days; a week. Time flies. Except when you are in the hospital.

Seven days; five IV's.

Needles don't scare me. If I could I would insert them myself, because some nurses are too stubborn to listen where they can and cannot insert the needle.

Seven days: 36 tubes of blood.

Blood doesn't scare me. I like the color of blood, how it flows, or doesn't flow when it is suppose to flow. It's like my blood is as stubborn as I am.

Hospital's don't scare me. I've been in and out of them all my life. I think I have subscription to them, but someone forgot to inform me and you don't know how to get rid of it. It keeps coming back, so you deal with it the best way you can.

It's day five, 7.30 AM. Have you ever been in a hospital, sharing a room with three men? Three snoring men? Three very loud snoring men? It's irritating and not good for your mood, especially at 7.30 AM. A lab nurse wakes me up. She smells like cigarettes, not in a good way. She makes me neaseous. "Goodmorning, I'm here to take blood before your biopsy." I freak. "Biopsy? What biopsy?" "Of your kidneys, but blood first, questions laters." She sounds like a Domme.

"I'm going to put the needle in your upper arm." I sigh. They cannot take blood there, for 25 years they have been trying, poking me, hurting me and never has a drop of blood come out of there, which is what I tell her. "I am the nurse here, I am sure I can make it work." I am too tired to fight her. It is too early, I haven't eaten or drank anything yet. I am sure the drawing of blood is going to make me dizzy, but she doesn't seem to care. Maybe she's not a Domme after all.

The needle is sharp and enters my skin with great ease. She looks with great anticipation to the tube. It's empty. No blood. I give her a 'I told you so' face, she doesn't appreciate it. She removes the needle and tries it on the upper side of my other arm. She tries a total of six times, before she is willing to listen to me. My arms looks ridiculous and she puts the needle in the skin on the top of my hand. A small red line appears and the blood slowly fills up the tube. And another. And another. Four tubes later I feel dizzy. Eight tubes later I want nothing but to have some water. She denies me the right of fluids. The more I look at her the more I think she must be a sadistic Domme. In a hospital, everything looks worse.

"I am going to cut you." I laugh. "I am not joking, I am going to cut you to see how long it takes for you to stop bleeding." I feel like I am in some kind of bad horror movie. She yanks a piece of skin out of my arm and it starts to bleed. I lay down and just wait. My cut has eight minutes to stop bleeding or they won't do the biopsy.

I close my eyes and try to think of something else. Water. Food. It doesn't work, all I can smell is her and her cigarettes. I think of my twin and smile. She's been such a great person over the last few days, calling me, talking to me, hugging me. I honest to god don't think I could have pulled through without her. I owe her. Big time.

I think of the one other person that's been there, on my little computer screen, that would allow me to chat. Her long blond curls slowly appear around her face and I can hear her voice. She comforts me, without being there. Two minutes, six more minutes to go. I don't want this biopsy. When I look at my arm and the blood pouring out of it I pass out. Just like that. Sometimes, the dream is better than the reality. I create my own virtual world, with my virtual people. Actually, just one person. The person I wish was there right beside me, taking my blood, because she would listen. She would communicate. Like a Domme and sub would do.

"How's my girl holding up?" I longed to hear that voice. I longed to see that face. I longed to hear those words. "Not too shabby Lady Cera." She sits down on the bed, her lab coat the same white color as the sheets, the only color connecting me with her, the red color of the blood. For her, my blood flows easily. To my heart, to my brain and other places.

Her hand plays with my hair, combs through it. Her touch feels good. I don't want it to stop. She brushes my cheek and traces my jaw with her index finger. "Please don't stop." She chuckles. Her thumb traces over my lower lip. Her touch is soft and caring and I cannot help but to moan softly. She slowly bends forward as she whispers in my ear: "Aren't you suppose to be to sick to moan?" I can't speak, so I just shake my head. I feel fine. She's here. It's all good. She lays down besides me, her warmth embracing me, comforting me, arousing me. Her nails trace down my neck, the soft scratching drives me insane. "Today, I'm not taking it slow. You'll do as I say. Understood?" I nod, wondering what she's aiming at. When her hands slide down my pants, I no longer have to wonder. She finds my wetness with great ease and the place I want her to touch me most. Her fingers circle my clit as my breathing gets louder, the moaning unstoppable. I shiver, quiver, shudder, I'm a wiggle worm as she adds more pressure. Blood is pumping through my veins, my cheeks are flustered and when she huskily whispers in my ear, "Cum for me my girl" I do exactly as she says.

"Congratulations, 7 minutes and 58 seconds. You will not be getting a biopsy today. This is too risky." The smelly nurse picks up her stuff and walks out of the room.

Six minutes of heaven, made the seven days in hell worthwhile.

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All fantasies aside, I do want to say: it feels special to know people care about you, when you cannot log into SL. For the messages, the yahoo's, all of it, I want to sincerely say: thank you.

Heather.