By J. Michael Murray
When I first walked into the clinic there was only one other person sitting in the waiting room, reading a magazine. We didn’t talk, but I wondered if he also volunteered for the study. Soon other people started coming in, some alone, others with friends who were helping them with their baggage. Everyone was smiling and laughing and looking healthy and robust–it seemed like we were getting ready for a Sunday afternoon boat cruise.
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Greg called us for the orientation session. Most of the rules were common sense, dealing with basics like bathing (yes) and physical contact between the volunteers (no). We were expected not to disturb the other patients in the hospital, and we couldn’t drink anything with caffeine in it. Smoking was not allowed on hospital grounds. He told us that our group of 28 was the largest the program had ever handled. He asked us to be patient during any scheduling delays that might happen as a result. Then we experienced the first of these delays, as Greg had forgotten some of the paperwork that we needed to sign. Before leaving the room he loaded a tape recorder with a greeting from the program director. After he was gone one of the volunteers took the tape out and put in his own. When Greg returned and turned on the recorder, out came the Village People singing “In the Navy.” Greg looked at us and said, “You guys!”
That first night nobody slept much. A combination of fear, excitement, and nosiness kept most of us talking all night. It was sometime after midnight when the implications of our promise to give up caffeine and cigarettes started to dawn on us.
I can’t explain what it’s like the first time you see your blood marked “Biohazard,” when health workers will only come near you dressed as if for chemical warfare or outer-space exploration. I can understand their fear, but at the same time it’s hard to accept that I’m a leper.
Before we retired, Nurse Zilla raised her sharp little fang one last time. Not bad for the second day: one dropout, one recess, one blowup, and 19 blood draws–let’s hear it for the home team.
I brought along several John Waters movies, including Hairspray with its “Alternative Miss World Contest” and Little Nell singing “I Want to Be a Beauty Queen.” After a few viewings some of us decided to have our own Miss Bloodletter contest. As inmates of Needle Park it was impossible for us to raid a Salvation Army for any of the necessary accoutrements, so we did the next best thing: we raided the linen closet. A couple of tucks here, a couple of tucks there, a few safety pins, and some well-placed staples turned a sheet into a fast designer original. Hair was also by Hospital Linen Services (the wonder twins were of no use here as this required a lot of imagination and skill). I took a towel and wrapped it around my head to form a turban.
