Going to the doctor for a routine exam isn’t something I look forward to. Now days they expect blood to be taken beforehand, along with a report afterwards showing just what condition your blood is in.
Kenny Rogers and the First Edition had a hit song years ago reminding me of such. Lyrics go like this,
“I just dropped in to see what condition my condition is in.”
I’m not afraid of giving blood. It’s the person standing behind the needle that has me most concerned. I once ended up with one of those professionals that couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. I’m actually talking about my vein here. The gal tried so many times that my arm became black and blue. Thankfully a different phlebotomist took over. She hit the mark first try.
It seems whenever I do find a good phlebotomist they don’t hang around more than a year. The last guy deserted ship to drive a truck. What does that tell you?
Larry is the fellow poking me the past two times. He’s good. This young man always hits the bullseye.
The lab I currently patronize plays classical music in their lobby. My wife says it’s for soothing the nerves of those waiting. I say it’s to drown out any screaming. You’ll never convince me that some folks don’t scream. We just never hear them.
Whenever I sit there nervously waiting for my name to be called I’ll gaze around at other customers. If a person is of average size or weight I pay no attention. The real skinny folks are the ones I worry about.
One poor lady’s arm was so thin that I wondered if it even held veins. What happens if a phlebotomist went a bit too deep on her? Have they ever poked all the way through? Imagining such horrible scenarios doesn’t ease my fears.
Phlebotomists generally ask if a person’s been fasting. Just once I’d love to reply,
“Yesterday. On the interstate.”
Maybe it’s best not to. I wonder if these people even have a sense of humor?
I make sure to always hydrate before I give blood. Why? You tell me. That’s another thing phlebotomists tell you to do before coming in. I’m always searching for a restroom as soon as the ordeal’s over.
With another blood draw coming up next month I have a plan. Last time I marked exactly where the needle went in using a ball point pen. Unfortunately the ink washed off when I showered.
This time I’ll mark the spot with a waterproof marker. I’m not the type person to ever get a tattoo, but perhaps one of a bullseye might not be a bad idea.
Should Larry decide to move on to a truck driving job like that other fellow, at least the new phlebotomist would be able to hit the mark; hopefully!
I like to write junk... 