My life is like Gattaca

I was back at the Cleveland Clinic today, this time for some genetic testing. There are a few specific conditions the doctor is testing for (no need to worry, none of them are bad news), and prior to getting my blood taken for the tests, I had to sign a consent form. The whole thing had an eerily formal feel to it. And don't you hate it when someone's explaining something to you, something you are being led to believe (and in the back of your mind know) is very important, yet you don't really get why?

There were three options as to what I wanted done with my DNA after the tests were run, and no, unfortunately none of them involved Jerome Morrow. Option 1: they throw it away. Option 2: They keep it, use it for research, and if they ever discover anything of value (like what is wrong with you) down the road, they contact you. Option 3: They keep it, use it for research, but take your name off of it. Now, I can appreciate the need for research, but I'm not uber comfortable with my DNA floating around for all to see. So I figured the best compromise was option 3. At least any future TJN clones will be entirely anonymous.

And you know I'm going to throw in a lab story, because the lady who took my blood today was nothing like the last. She didn't call me sweetie. She didn't appreciate me telling her which vein they usually use. She got exasperated at the opening and closing of my fist and told me to pick one or the other. And she wasn't at all sympathetic to my slight whimpering. When she had finished taping me up, she finally cracked. She laughed and shook her head, saying softly, "You're such a little chicken." No she did not. I suppose, in true Jerome style, I could have been offended or upset, asked her if she wanted to change places. (What's your number??!!) But instead I started to laugh. Because who was I kidding? Absolutely no one. I mean, the ten-year-old boy across from me had handled it better than I had. And so there the two of us were in stitches, me and the mean nurse lady, laughing at what a chicken I was. And that is how I quite possibly became the first person ever to have left the lab smiling.