Home, or Half-Way Through!

I'm done with the first weekend of my study!

I thought it would never end. It was sooooo long. The blood draws were a cinch, though, and I totally wasn't expecting that. All the medical stuff was easy-breezy, actually. Even the steak-eating was fine.

I got out of there like a bat outta hell, though. Grabbed both my bags with one arm because the other was still bleeding from my last blood draw. I was afraid that the lady cutting off my medical wristband wouldn't let me leave because I was gushing a bit. Sorry. Is that gross? You tend to lose a lot of your squeamishness in these study things. Your modesty, too. And your dignity. Nothing strips you of dignity like walking through two huge rooms full of people with a cup of your own pee in your hand, first thing in the morning before you've seen a shower or toothbrush or mirror.

The first thing I did after I got home (after talking both of Angela's ears off in the car on the way home) was eat oatmeal. They didn't feed us from 2 p.m. until our release at nearly 10 p.m. Boiled chicken on a white bun doesn't last you very long either. I was hungry like whoa. I also had some chocolate. I refrained from coffee until morning.

You'd think I'd been gone three months instead of three days. I just keep walking back and forth in my house, smiling at my couch, at my bed, at my jewelry, at my new over-the-shoulder hemp and silk bag from Nepal. "I'll bring you with me next weekend," I told my mood ring and my rosewood bracelets. "I get to carry you around tomorrow!" I told my pretty new bag. "I love you!" I said to my non-industrialized, recycled-paper toilet paper. I opened the kitchen cupboards (which are admittedly sparsely inhabited) and smiled at all the choices there. Having a belly full of oatmeal and chocolate, I don't want any of the black beans or Kashi crackers or ramen noodles in the kitchen, but I'm glad that I can once again choose what to put in my mouth.

I know that this seems a little pathetic. It's not like I spent 3 years in a concentration camp. I'm not so silly as to pretend that it was really very bad at all. But it's nice to eat real food of my own choosing, and not to be timed doing so. It's nice to be Katie again, instead of Kathryn, or more commonly "1040-168". It's nice to be near my wonderful and cheery roommate, Angela instead of 49 strangers. And hey, it's nice to know that no one will be waking me up at 3 a.m. to stab me in the arm (I actually only vaguely remember that blood draw...).

Unfortunately, I have to do it all over again next weekend. It'll be better, though. I'll know people more (both because friends will be there, and I know the other participants now). I'll know the routine (it's exactly the same, right down to menu, both weekends). And I'll know that the blood draws aren't scary. Oh, and I'll know that it's very nearly OVER, and I am about to be PAID!

Also, now I know things like how long it takes weed to get out of your system before a pre-study drug test, and how to speed up that process; what substances can be detected in your blood and keep you out of the study (apparently you can get smashed the night before, come in late because of a hangover, and still make it in), and what will best heal your track marks so that you don't get mistaken as a junkie.

I'm not going out for cocoa butter or vitamin D tomorrow, though. I'm just gonna let 'em be. Gives me street cred, don't you think?

(Can you even see the holes and bruises very well? Probably not... you get the point though.)