It was supposed to be quick and easy. In and out, as they say.
My SO and I decided to visit a local site where we could get blood screening done for cholesterol and other metabolic readings that only people of advancing age and maturity should have to think about.
We've done this before and the process has always gone smoothly and without a hitch........in the past.
Today was to be the exception.
After we completed our paperwork and paid the fee, we took our seats and waited for the next available station to open up. We had barely lowered our bodies into the uncomfortable molded plastic chairs when one of the nurses (I presume she was a nurse.) called out, "Next person, please." Both of us said, "You go.", simultaneously and the nurse-type person laughed and teased us about the two of us being too eager.
My SO went first. He got to the chair and the nurse turned to me and asked if I wanted to hold his hand or laugh. I replied, "Laugh.", which God retaliated for in short order. The laugh was to be on me.
A kindly nurse-type person near me - seated in those awful plastic chairs - motioned for me to come on over. I complied and took a seat. She told me she chose me because she needed "an easy one" next. Apparently, her last 'draw' had not been easy. Since I was one of the only (my SO was the other) 'younger-looking' individuals waiting, she mistakingly assumed I would be 'easy'.
Such was not to be the case, both to her dismay and my discomfort.
About ten years ago I was told that I had small veins and should always ask for a 'butterfly' when I had blood taken. Of course, I have no idea of what a 'butterfly' is or does, but I always dutifully volunteer this information, the phlebotomist nods and all goes well.
Not today.
When I told this kindly-looking nurse-type person that I needed a butterfly, she sighed and her shoulders sunk a little lower. Clearly this was not information that she found encouraging. But, she took a 'butterfly', opened the plastic, and proceeded to try finding a vein near the crook of my arm. She wasn't happy with what she found but she thought it would work. The needle went in and, for about ninety seconds, she moved it around, trying to find the vein. Her efforts were in vain. Discouraged, she removed the needle, placed some wadded up gauze over the entry point, and put a Tazmanian Devil BandAid on the spot. BandAid number one. She then began searching for another vein in which to push yet another needle into.
Clearly she was having difficulty finding veins. I teasingly told her she had a twelve-BandAid limit. Fortunately she saw the humor in my remark.
Next 'we' went to the wrist on my opposite arm. She told me "this is going to sting", which was a first-class understatement. Once again, she gently moved the needle, probing to find blood, but could get nothing to go into the little plastic tube. Oh, yes. By this time, she has another nurse-type person assisting her, holding the tube and bottle-thingy at a level that will encourage blood flow.
While all the 'stinging' is going on - this attempt for well over two minutes - she keeps telling me to relax.
BandAid number two.
Meanwhile, I am thinking to myself, "I got up early, fasted, drove forty minutes to get here. I am not going home until I get blood drawn."
After the failed second attempt, two more nurse-type people join the two that are already there. I look over at my husband. He is smiling but the smile quickly fades when he sees me looking at him.
The four nurse-type people take turns looking at my arms, wrists, and hands, each sharing an opinion on how to get blood out of my body. I keep insisting that this is the first time this difficulty has ever occurred. I am embarrassed, to say the least.
Now another nurse-type person sits down, ready to have a go at me. She decides to try the top of my left hand, which, heretofore, has been unscathed. Not now. The four nurse-type people agree upon a spot and the needle goes in. Very minor, short sting, but blood doesn't want to flow. I am working at relaxing so my blood can flow. I imaginine myself drinking massive amounts of margaritas on a Jamaican beach. One of the nurse-type people holds the apparatus at a helpful level. Between that and the nurse with the needle massaging my hand's vein, we slowly get the job done.
Forty-five minutes later and BandAid number three, I am a free woman.
May all who read this posting always have a one-BandAid experience or.......lots of margaritas.
Ancora imparo
