- Missing
I worked at the local hospital in the clerical support team, checking stock inventories, ordering supplies, making sure that when the surgeons did their work, there were appropriate consumables ready for them to use. As you might expect, there are some odd tales I could tell about working in a hospital, but none I know of quite matches this one:
It was a Monday morning in February when I first spotted a new nurse, Lydia, and you know how you can look at someone and get a feeling “there’s something going on there, but I don’t know what it is”, well I caught that feeling as soon as I’d clapped eyes on her. She was a tall, slender, willowy young woman, about 25 or so, with black hair that would have reached down to her shoulders if she’d untied it. Her skin colour always seemed very pale; it wasn’t just that she was fair, it was more as if she’d just seen a ghost or had a fright, or something of that nature. I thought that I’d seen people with red and rosy complexions, so the opposite seemed just as possible. Apart from that, the most interesting thing for me was, as you can guess, was that she wore glasses: big round red plastic framed ones. As for the lenses, well if you weren’t a hardcore OO you’d hate them: great big ballooning plus lenses, easily +10. The way they lit up her face behind her lenses and pumped up her eyes, well it was fascinating, and the way she seemed to peer around, moving her head more than a normal person would, revealed to me that she had a restricted view of the world, thanks to the limitations imposed by her powerful corrective lenses. She didn’t have to turn her head far for the view of her inflated eyes to turn into a confusing mass of light and colour. Apparently she’d been transferred from some other part of the hospital, I wasn’t sure really. But she was here, and that was that, so I took some not inconsiderable delight in seeing her whenever I could.
I was given the task of checking the blood supplies one day a couple of months later, something I did on occasion, and found to my surprise there was a problem: whilst checking the the O+ bags, I discovered that there was one missing. Seeing as we had plenty on hand, it didn’t strike me as wholly alarming, but it did need to be checked. I reported it to my superior, who started looking into it, but then something came up, thus he promptly forgot all about it and that was that. A few weeks later one of my colleagues noticed the same thing: but this time it just so happened our superior was on holiday and his temporary replacement wasn’t really interested, so again nothing happened.
But that wasn’t quite good enough for me, so I resolved to check through the records. I was busy enough with my normal assigned tasks, thus I could only sort through the daily blood supplies and usage figures fitfully, but after a few days I started to realise that they didn’t always tally: every few days, one would go missing. I went back months and months, searching for some pattern, some clue, and discovered that this sort of thing did happen occasionally, simply because someone had written the wrong number, but about 15 weeks ago, instead of it happening about once a month or so, it suddenly had become more than weekly. This change was in February: I wondered why February, had something changed at that time? Perhaps someone with really bad mathematical skills had been recently taken on? No, that couldn’t be, the supply and usage sheets were all signed by lots of different people: if that were true, then several people would have had to become inexplicably bad at counting at the same time.
The next time I was down in the blood store, everything was perversely but thankfully correct. On my out, I bumped into Lydia: she fixed me with her inflated stare for a moment, and then smiled rather knowingly. She wanted a unit of blood for some operation or other, with no paperwork: that didn’t sound unreasonable, because one unit wasn’t much and the paperwork could be done later. I went inside and fetched it for her, for which she seemed inordinately grateful. She gave me a strange look, then walked off. For a moment, I thought she looked hungry.
- Caught
After a few weeks away from the blood store checking on surgical masks and gloves, I was back just in time to receive an instruction from “on high”; this stated that we must have proper authorisation for issuing equipment and consumables, including units of blood too. That was no problem for me, but it did draw a few grumbles from staff who wanted things without bothering to obtain the proper authorization. One day a couple of weeks after this instruction, I saw Lydia came in: if anything, she looked paler and more sickly than usual, and for her that was no mean feat. But as usual her thick bulbous lenses held my attraction, along with what they did to her dark eyes: swelling and stretching them out of all proportion.
She held an authorization for a unit of blood: a yellow form about a third A4 size, with tick boxes for the purpose and a signature at the bottom. I took one look at it and saw that the signature was forged, then looked at her, meeting her inflated gaze as it blinked behind those thick lenses. I wondered what to do for a moment, then realised I was onto something here. Exactly what, I had no conception of, but it dragged me on. I pointed to something written in smaller print than that on the rest of the form, and asked, ‘what about that?’ Lydia took it, then held it up and away from her face, as you might expect someone to do who was slightly hyperopic and had forgotten her glasses. She couldn’t read it, made a face and said, ‘sorry, I need new glasses.’ She handed it back to me, smiled a little, then asked, in a slightly wheedling tone, ‘can you read it for me?’ This I did, thus she put a cross in the right box, more or less on target. I issued her the blood; as she carried it away, I noticed that she looked more relieved than I thought anyone would be in such a situation. It was, after all, just a bag of blood. If that was her reaction to getting blood for an urgent operation, why would she need to forge the signature? Or - was she needing it for something else? This briefly caused me much puzzlement until something else came up, whereupon it slipped out of my mind.
Once home later that day, I sat thinking about this: perhaps it was all entirely innocent, but yesterday, or perhaps the day before, it hardly made a difference, I could swear that I saw her reading something with no problem whatsoever. It seemed unlikely that her vision could degrade that fast: I thought that she was old enough not to undergo such rapid changes in her RX under normal circumstances. The thought of Lydia’s huge eyes fluttering around behind her thick lenses filled my thoughts as I tried to sleep that night. Two days later she came in, looking tired but nowhere near as pale and ill-looking as before. And again, she held a requisition slip for one unit of blood, and as before the signature was forged, but not as clumsily as before. Once I’d given it to her, she again seemed happy. Happy? Why? I mused. There was something very strange going on here: this time is seemed that she was able to read close up quite easily, although her lenses, although thick, did not appear to be any different.
Three times more she repeated this performance, each time for one unit: I was beginning to suspect that she was up to something, so after the last time she did this, I then went though the medical records for the day in question, and found no trace of any planned operation soon enough to need blood right away. It was now clear to me that she was making it all up, requisitioning blood just about every other day, for purposes unknown. It occurred to me that perhaps she might be selling it: I had no idea. But I decided to challenge her the next time she came in.
The next time she came in, she was again looking pale and weary, as if she’d been on a double shift. But the reality was she’d just started her shift: I knew that because I’d checked. She came in brandishing another of her falsified requisitions: the forgery was quite obvious. I said to her, ’that’s not Dr Smithson’s signature.' ‘Yes it is. I just got him to sign it. Maybe he’s too busy to sign properly.’ She smiled. I countered ‘Dr Smithson is on holiday today.’ Her smile faded quickly, leaving an expression of deep concern. Her voice wavered as she leaned close to me and whispered, ‘please, don’t tell anyone about this.’ I appeared to consider for a long moment; she looked hopeful.
Then I replied ‘OK, I’ll overlook it.’ I made to tear up the slip. In a panic she said, ‘b - but I need the blood.’ ‘What for?’ ‘I can’t tell you. Really, I can’t. But need the blood. Please.’ Again I did my “thinking it over” act, then after a couple of minutes I went in to the blood bank, found a unit and gave it to her. I said to her, ‘you can have this, but any more, well I’m not sure.’ Taking the blood bag in hands, she seemed to become inordinately relieved and grateful, which again I found to be rather odd reactions in such a situation. She said softly, ‘I’m very grateful for your understanding - if I need this again, I’ll be even more grateful.’ I pretended not to quite realise what she was talking about, but I knew perfectly well what she was offering; I wonder if she realised that I was attracted to her because she wore thick plus lenses? This was unlikely, being as they didn’t usually.
- Dilemma
Well, the next day Lydia started being grateful to me, sitting facing me in the canteen and chatting, whilst not realising what an attraction she made for me. She sat cleaning her glasses, which was interesting being as I got a good look at her eyes without glasses: if you’ve ever seen a severe hyperope without glasses, you’ll probably notice how small their eyes look in contrast to their normal appearance, which is big and bright behind the lenses. Such was the case with Lydia; she didn’t really try to look at anything, especially me sitting in front of her, but did squint at something far away. Softly she commented, ‘my vision is terrible,’ then replaced them.
She touched my hand with hers, and said, ‘you know how yesterday I said I’d be grateful if I needed to you to do what you did again, umm… Well… I need it again.’ I asked, curious ‘I’d rather like to know what you need it for.’ She looked pensive, troubled, but then said ‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you… please trust me, it is nothing terrible or bad.’ I replied, ‘oh, OK.’ She gave a little smile. If she hadn’t been a fantastic looking woman with thick glasses, I’d have told my superior about her instantly.
She then said hesitatingly ‘I need more blood tomorrow…’ ‘What? So soon? No way, my boss will find out and I’ll be out of a job for sure!’ ‘Please, please… I’ll be so grateful… I’ll come around tonight and we can do whatever you please together…’ She squirmed in a saucy fashion for just a moment, fluttering her eyes; for me that was interesting but with glasses, well that was something else. I was convinced: I wanted to see what sort of gratitude Lydia had to offer.
At home I waited until the appointed hour, then the doorbell rang. I opened the door and there stood an amazing sight: Lydia, standing tall, elegant and sexy in her high heels and a short red dress, and her red-framed thick glasses… oh, wow, what a sight! They caught and held the light coming out of my front door, trapping it in a maze of fluttering eyelashes. How on earth she’d made her face up with vision like that I could only guess at. She smiled, then said, ‘aren’t you going to let me in?’ I let her in and got her a drink, then she sat beside me and touched me: it was a beautiful evening of sex and glasses, that was all I can say!
One thing puzzled each of us: for me, why exactly did she need blood, and for her, why exactly I wanted her to keep her glasses on for sex, and even the way I felt her lenses with my fingers. That certainly felt odd to her, but not as odd as what she did with the blood, as I was to find out soon enough! Anyway I kept her supplied with blood for a couple of weeks with no problems and no awkward questions, even after I was moved onto another task: I still had access to it, and of course she was grateful every time. I pondered my strange dilemma: whether to tell my boss all about it, or carry on having sex with a GWG? After a mere moment’s reflection, that seemed like no dilemma at all!
4: Hepatitis
It just so happened that a few weeks after the first session of Lydia’s gratitude, we got wind of a hepatitis scare in the area: occasionally blood for transfusions gets something unwanted in it, and that happened to a neighbouring hospital, which as might be imagined, proved somewhat embarrassing and awkward. The first I knew about it was when I was down in the blood store, where some lab technicians were engaged in taking samples from the units stored there: until they’d proved we were clear of it, they could not allow me to issue any. I sat in the office wondering what was going to happen, and then Lydia came in. She looked pale, as usual, and she held her usual requisition form. I told her she couldn’t have any at the moment, to which she looked scared and pained… I asked why, and she replied that she thought I was going to tell all to my superiors. When I explained the reason why I couldn’t help her, she still sounded panicky, perhaps more so. I couldn’t fathom what her problem was, but after she walked off in a huff, I gave her little thought.
A short while later the answer came to our queries, but certainly not to our hopes: the samples proved that we had a great deal of contaminated blood in our stores, and that it would have to be discarded. There was, however, a small amount that was clean, but we’d have to be extra careful with it for a day or two until we got more, only issuing it if absolutely necessary. I hoped Lydia wouldn’t come back and pester me for some, but some hours she did: she looked terrible, her face and skin white, her black hair standing out starkly against it, and her eyes blinking behind her thick glasses. She gasped out, ‘please… give me some blood…’ I was amazed in the change: she was so exhausted and feeble-looking, I could have knocked her over with a breath. She felt her head, and said ‘I’ve got a splitting headache! My vision has got so bad again!’ I told her to sit down, and then asked ‘Lydia, what is going on? Why are you so ill?’
She paused, gulped, then shook her head. She muttered, ‘can’t tell you…’ ‘Why not? I can help you… we are in a hospital, for goodness sake!’ ‘No, no, you can’t help me. Nobody, nothing can help me, except… blood. Give me blood.’ ‘I can’t, there isn’t enough for me to cover it up.’ ‘Please…’ ‘What do you do with all that blood I’m giving you? Drink it?’ I was joking, but then to my astonishment, she nodded.
Well, there was nothing much I could do but take pity on her, and hope the result of this might be looked upon mercifully by my superior if he found out about it. Thus I went into the store and took one of the few remaining, opened it and gave it to Lydia. She looked at it, and then me, and then held to her mouth and drank it! For some minutes she seemed ill, and then I noticed a change: she became more alert and less drunk-looking, and then said, ’thanks…’ I let her recover a bit more, and then asked, ‘so, what was all that about then?’
She gave a sigh, and then said haltingly, ‘well… you might not believe this, but I’m a vampire… I need human blood every so often to keep me alive. I’m not afraid of the light, because I was bitten during a solar eclipse, but that gives me another problem instead,’ she pointed at her glasses, then continued ‘I need thick ugly glasses to see. I can’t see a thing without them, and what is really weird, it gets worse when I don’t get a regular blood supply. I’ve had problems in the past, that’s why my vision is so poor now.’ I looked shocked, so she said, trying to be reassuring ‘I hope this doesn’t shock you or scare you… I am not a terrible person, I will not bite you or drink your blood, you must see that. I just need your help - and you like sex with me, don’t you? Although I can’t understand some of the things you want me to do.’
I was shocked, but then I thought “shock for shock”. I blurted out, ‘you look good in glasses.’ She smiled, and said, whilst touching them for reassurance that they were still on her face, ’thank you, that’s very kind. You’re a very kind man to take me on trust. Although I suppose my legs help.' ‘Well, yes, but not as much as the glasses. I love your glasses.’ It was her turn to be shocked: her already large-seeming eyes became larger still, her mouth opened and a little “oh!” sound escaped her mouth. We sat there for a time absorbing each other’s unusual news. Then she kissed me, and went back to work.
- Emergency
Well, after that we got on like a house on fire, which is a bad pun considering what was the next major emergency: some factory had gone up in smoke and set off an explosion in a nearby petrol station, thus injuring many people in the vicinity. They all got ferried here for care and attention, and as you can imagine, needed to draw heavily on the blood store for various operations. After a night of this, we were pretty much out of blood and thus I was worried about Lydia. I tried to keep a unit for her, but it got used up, and when she came in the next day looking for one, I was obliged to tell her that there was nothing for her. She knew I wouldn’t lie to her, so had to accept it, but looked at me plaintively, as if she knew what was going to happen.
The next day she didn’t come in at all. I wondered and worried all day, and then after work went around to see her. I rang the bell three times, then she came to the door. She was casually dressed and looked really terrible, as if she had a really bad bout of flu. She strained to focus on me, and failed - I had to speak just so she knew I was there. It was incredible to see how poor her vision had become so quickly, but also so sad to see her so weak and frail. She went back inside and slumped on the sofa, then whispered exhaustedly, while looking up at me hopefully, ‘help me… I need blood.’
I sat in front of her as she slowly faded before me; it was a miserable sight. She was lovely but helpless in her predicament, bitten but unwilling to attack another human being. There was nothing else I could do to help her, no other access to blood… save my own. I went to her kitchen and took a sharp knife from the drawer, washed it, went back into the lounge, held it against my palm and cut. Blood dripped from it instantly: I held my hand to her mouth, willing her to drink it. Something made her suck, and it went into her. She started sucking a little harder, then her eyes fluttered open, huge and distorted behind her lenses. She drank some more, and looked at me with extreme pleasure and gratitude in her enormously inflated gaze.
She then pushed my hand away, and said, ’thank you, thank you, my darling… you must live too, my darling. How can I repay you? Oh, I know!' She blinked her massive eyes, and said, ‘you’d like to feel my lenses again! Well, I don’t care! After what you just did for me… it’s nothing!’ And so I’d found myself a lover, as unconventional as any you might dare to imagine! But the lack of blood had affected her vision; as in every occasion where she’d gone over a couple of days without it, her eye muscles had become slightly feebler. A few days later she had new lenses fitted into her glasses to avoid eyestrain, and her new RX was RE +12.5D, +3D × 115; LE +12.75D, + 3.5D × 160: all in all a quite hefty prescription. It was a couple of weeks until her eyes adjusted to it: she mentioned that things were slightly blurred in the distance as she couldn’t focus, but the close range vision was fine again. She did say this had happened several times before: when she’d been bitten she had only needed plus 5 or so each eye, but consequent episodes of blood deprivation had cost her a lot of vision. But there were compensations: fill her up with blood and she could keep going all night long!