i donated blood yesterday.

sitting in the lab room, waiting that the nurse getting got ready to take my blood pressure, body temp and hb, i chat with her, telling her i am curious what my hb will be like because it was too low to doante last time.
she asks me whether i am "in the field", medical personnel. - it's a question i hear quite often when at the docs: it's caused by the type of language i use when talking about medical issues, i guess, and by the type of things i ask and know. it happens when you date a doc for 3+ years: you start using that kind of language.

before my brain switches in, i reply "no, i'm not in the medical field, but my partner is a doc.".

uh-oh.

as i say that sentence, i realise that wasn't the case anymore, and cringe.
i tell myself that correcting that mistake isn't worth it, because i'll share a total of five minutes with the nurse and most likely never see her again. little do i know what kind of discussion she'll get into though.

"so what do you do?" she asks me
"i'm a lawyer-to-be.", i tell her, as i lean my arm on the padded cushion, so she can take my blood pressure.
as she puts the sleeve around my arm, simultaenously pops a thermometer in my ear and continues her examination of me she informs me " i really don't want to upset you, but i have to tell you that i think lawyers and doctors really make shabby couples."

uh? pardon me?

the nurse gets into a big fat talk about how incompatible lawyers and doctors are in regards to love and even included examples about every doc and lawyer couple she ever knew.

it is quite a funny situation, actually. i sit there in my chair, being examined, pretty much silent, smiling to myself and silently agreeing with her on things such as work dedication and frame of mind being obstacles for good doctor/lawyer relationships. but i can't tell her it is behind me, that struggle, and that i really don't need or want her advice, because i ditched the doctor several weeks ago.

"how long has it been going on?" she asks, after scribbling my exam results on my donation form (bp as high as ever, temp 36.8, hb 14,4 on second taking, after 11,7 the first time. uh? odd.) and as i get ready to leave the room, i tell her "three and a half years.".

"that's quite a while.", she replies. "good luck then. but if things go wrong, don't let that passed time stand in the way of leaving, yes?"

i nod, thank her, and head for the room where the doc will have a final look at me before 500ml of blood will move from my bod into a plastic bag.

i don't need any more luck, or that kind of advice anymore.
found that one out myself, after all.
that's what i call luck.