Friday, July 9, 2010

Yesterday (w/photos)

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 agreed.

"I just might do that."

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