The Red Room Monologue

I have always been fascinated by blood. I was mesmerized whenever I saw it; the curious red color that seemed to almost magically appear from under my skin whenever I had a scratch or cut. Bleeding, to me, was a bizarre occurrence, because I could never genuinely understand why it was necessary for humans to do. It was almost as if it was a bodies way of cheering up it's owner after he or she got hurt, as if the warmth of the bright red liquid was meant to blanket over your wound and distract you from it. It may in fact be strange or unusual to enjoy the sight of blood so much, but I couldn't help it, it's simply intriguing
to me. Which was precisely why I am excited for today's field trip. Visiting a blood bank is perfect for me; and especially beneficial, considering I intended to work in the medical field someday.

It was still early, and everybody in our group seemed sleepy and disinterested at what our tour guide, Carol, was saying. Dull and monotonous as she was, I hung on to her every word as she led us down the long, brightly lit hall of the Community Blood Center. I found myself taking mental notes as she talked about different blood types and described the process and paperwork that was required to give blood, considering this information could be beneficial to remember if I chose to be a nurse.

The air smelled so sterile it burned my nose; resembling a mix of bleach and rubbing alcohol.
The walls, the chairs, and the floors of the long hallway we were walking down were all the same shade of spotless white. The lights above us were intense and harsh, making everything seem even brighter than it already was. It was so incredibly cold that despite my thick jacket and boots I had on, I was positively freezing.

Carol, our tour guide, escorted us into the main room where patients gave blood. As she spoke about procedure and strolled around the room, I found myself realizing how different it was compared to the other areas she had lead us through. Everything appeared the same; the walls were still white and the lights above us continued to wash out everything in the room, including the people. The smell, however, was entirely different. It smelled so strongly of warm blood and stainless steel that I could almost taste it on my
tongue.

There were at least 10 people laying on white medical beds, each looking more tired and somber than the next.
It was unnervingly quiet, with only the sound of blood dripping into a bag slowly and the click, click, click of our footsteps to fill the room. I suddenly realized I felt sweaty and weak. My vision, which had been fixed on the tour guide, suddenly became alarmingly blurry. I had to focus on keeping my balance, despite the fact that we weren't even moving. Grabbing my mom's arm, I faintly whispered, “I think I might pass out.”

Everything was still dark and blurry, and I could only vaguely discern that my mom was leading me out of the room. I hear her ask someone, “She doesn't feel well, can we stay in this room for a while?” They must say yes, because she sits me down on a white, surprisingly cushioned, wooden chair and hands me a bottle of water and a pack of peanut butter crackers and instructs me to eat
them.

As I slowly grasp what had happened, I sadly realize I don't stand much of a chance to work in the medical field after all. If I nearly pass out over a few packs of blood neatly stored in a bag, how could I ever handle or treat a gushing wound? I realize that I'm not actually entertained with the sight blood, just intrigued by the concept of it. This isn't exactly how I imagined today going, I bitterly think to myself. I begrudgingly accept the situation and vow to never step foot into a blood bank again.