Olykoek

She remembered when she had to go to blood tests. Waking up early fighting with the kitchen to not fall in the temptation of having cereals and milk, being driven like a zombie from her mother in the very early dawn to the crowded, phosphorus-smelling pale room, smiling to people of eighty, the chit chat with the nurse, the head turned away from the syringe, the look of her mother like “it must be painful, I feel you” but not it was not about the pain it was the disgust to see her own skin pinched, the bulky patch on her thin layer of skin.
But probably what she did remember the most was the question, almost a statement, of her mother when sitting back in the car: “Doughnut?”

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