Counting the marks by Rebecca cavanagh Tap, tap, tap. Two fingers tap the back of my hands run their fingers down the blue spindly lines which barely count as veins. Usually the phlebotomist struggles but finding x on a beach of dodgy veins was easy The needle goes in. Punctures my skin leaving a tiny hole another mark of countless tests examinations and cannulas for operations I watch the mark get covered by the plaster feel bereft my badge of honour is hidden. I push outside the hospital waiting room. Blood test room B and nurse Sandra all left behind for another year I look at the plaster on my hand want to show my scar to the world add it to the countless list of stretch marks open wounds, stomas and stitches I tear off the plaster the purple-brown bruise appears yellow in the light there’s another mark to count.
34 // Rebecca Cavanagh