Friday, July 9, 2010
I saw my doctor yesterday and he is running a load of tests on me. Which meant I had to have a load of blood drawn.
The Phlebotomist came in and was a little tough around the edges.
"Which arm, honey?" she asked.
"You pick. Everyone has trouble finding my veins." I often prefer they stick me in the hand, because they never miss in the hand. And they often miss in the arm.
She picked the left arm.
I asked, "can you please you a butterfly?"
She said (imagine a slight Southern drawl),"anything you need, Ms. Rogers. If you want a butterfly, honey. I'll give you a butterfly."
How cute was she? Once rough around the edges, I now felt like she might bake me up a pie.
"I prefer butterflies only because they tell me I'm supposed to preserve my veins in case I need dialysis."
"Dialysis? Oh girl, those needles are the size of this!" She holds up a vial for the blood. A thick, long tube. Barf! "Girl, why would a cute girl like you need dialysis?"
I said, "long story. But my goal is to avoid dialysis altogether and just go straight to transplant."
She smoothly slid the needle in and I hardly noticed.
"You are good," I said.
And she said, "I'm not in the vein yet."
"Oh." And ouch. She poked and prodded.
"Are you in yet?" I squeeked.
"Not yet," she whispered.
(In light of pain, my slightly perverted self found humor in how this exchange could be had in a very different setting.)
"There, I'm in. It's flowing girl. Just relax."
She was cute. And I kinda wanted to hug her.
"Can I take a picture of this? I'm trying to document this part of my life."
"You want to take a picture of your blood? Sure, you go right ahead. Get your name and date on the tubes! You should write a book, honey!"
"I just might do that."