I tell you, I feel tired and dirty, but I was told no baths allowed for a few days, so I’ll stay dirty. Yesterday morning I was crying a lot and the woman asked me to give an address in case of emergencies and I made one up. I had to undress and get in a white smock and they took my temperature and blood pressure five times. Then a nurse pushed me in a wheelchair into a green room where I met the doctor. He called us all ‘ladies’ and told jokes. I could see some people getting annoyed. He was Indian, unfortunately, and he looked at me strangely as if to say, ‘What are you doing here?’ But maybe it was just my imagination.
I had to lie on a table and they put a needle or two into my left arm. Heat rushed over my face and I tried to speak. The next thing I know I’m in the recovery room with a nurse saying, ‘Wake up, dear, it’s all over.’ The doctor poked me in the stomach and said, ‘Fine.’ I found myself feeling aggressive. ‘Do you do this all the time?’ I asked. He said he does nothing else.
They woke us at six and there were several awkward-looking, sleepy boyfriends outside. I got the bus and went back to the squat.
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