And perhaps not surprisingly, I grew more mindful as the slow rhythm of bloodletting rinsed me with clarity. It wasn’t dramatic; it was familiar and reassuring. I was all business, making sure not to press too deep. I etched the lines in orderly rows, and after I was done, I swiped with alcohol, blotted the skin, and applied gauze. When Bennet and Alexis returned late that night, I was in much better shape—and wearing a long-sleeved shirt to bed.
