florafloraflora (florafloraflora) wrote,

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Full-frontal Phlebotomy

So I went to the Red Cross blood center yesterday to do my civic duty, or at least get the constant begging phone calls to stop for two months. The girl sticking me was probably a newbie. She marked my vein out all meticulously with two stripes of purple ink, but when she stuck me the flow of blood was painfully slow. At least they all seemed pained, constantly checking the bag and threatening to flip the needle over in my vein.

In the end I filled the bag but they couldn't use my blood because my veins decided to quit before I could fill the tube they needed for testing. They can use it for research, but not for actual transfusions. My phlebotomist didn't want the mis-stick on her record, though, and she tried to get the head nurse to stick my other arm to fill the test tube. Head nurse couldn't find a vein, but Miss Girl brought in another phlebotomist who rolled her eyes and said "What? Y'all can't feel those veins in there? I'm gonna stick her!" and proceeded to do some exploratory surgery with a needle in my left arm. Only my audience, the horrified guy on the recliner next to mine and Phlebotomist #2's next victim, kept me from being a big baby about it. "See what you have to look forward to?" I asked him brightly. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Needless to say, she couldn't get a vein, but now I have big stylin' bruises on the insides of both arms.

When I went to the goodies table, I was checking out the "Kiss the Donor" apron and the head nurse bustled over and started selling it to me: "You know, those are very helpful for barbecue season! As soon as you see him come in, you just put that apron on and he'll have to kiss you! And you know, if you want to make it really exciting when it's just you and him, you can wear the apron with nothing under it!" I took the apron, just as a gag, but what do you know? It was very helpful when I made my breakfast this morning. If the Mr. had been around he might even have kissed me.

The good news is, my pulse rate was 54, and my blood pressure, which is always making my doctor all frowny, was a very decent 112/60. I told the nurse that that was a lot lower than I'd been getting at the doctor's office, and she told me I just have White Coat Syndrome. I said, "You're wearing a white coat too!", but she just laughed and said I knew she wasn't going to get mad at me, and that made all the difference. I told her I'd been working out and then she changed her story: "Oh, exercise! That's what does it, you know, exercise!" Maybe all that Couch-to-5K and yoga really is more than just a way to pass the time, and is actually doing something for me. Or maybe I just need to switch to a less attractive doctor.
Tags: medical

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