Blood and stuff

Yesterday I met Cameron. He took my blood at the hospital because two nurses at the dr's office couldn't in four tries. This means a) I'll now be getting a bill from the hospital, about which I'm not happy; and b) I have several little red holes where they tried. You know, they stick the needle in and move it around hunting for a vein. That hurts. But it doesn't hurt them, so they keep it up until they finally give up and say something mildly insulting about the size of my veins.

 One nurse told me, "I think the needle is at the vein but can't go in." I told Cameron about that and said I thought she needed a sharper needle. He said the needle he was holding was the sharpest there is.
 
I had hopes.

Cameron had to search a little, but only stuck one needle in one time. And, behold, there came blood, and he filled three tubes with it. I told him I had great love and admiration for him. I meant it. You try getting stuck with a needle in the crook of your elbow over and over.

Cameron is young, obviously good at his job, and his right arm above the elbow is covered with tattoos. Colorful. And maybe the pride of his young life. I asked him what it was. He lifted his sleeve and showed me the flowers and the words spiraling around his arm. "Live in the moment."

"So you're a carpe diem guy."

"Yeah," he said.

"It's quite beautiful," I said.

"Ya, but it sure did hurt."

"Are you going to keep going? I mean, up your neck and other arm?"

"No. I think I'm done." He pointed to one of the large flowers, chrysanthemum, I believe. Then he said, "I might go back and get this flower colored a little more, to match the rest."

I asked him who did it, because my friend Nancy's son is a tattoo artist. He told me, but it wasn't the Payne kid--who's not a kid anymore.

He said, "A good artist, tattoo artist, can make a lot of money. A lot."

"Well, how much did your tattoo cost?"

"It was $110 . . ." I thought that sounded like a lot of money. Then he said,  "An hour." I was dealing with that when 
he said, "And this took about eight hours."

"Cameron!"

Now. Do I need to say that I don't like tattoos? Well, I don't like them. But I liked Cameron.


Addendum: I've just been told by members of my family that the Payne kid, whose name they remembered but which I'll leave out here, is a VERY popular tattoo artist and has a long waiting list. So he must be getting rich.