Post #49.6: I love me an AMP

I love to count vials of blood! 1,2,3,4,5,6,7! 7 Vials of blood! Ah ah ah.

I feel like refried bear ass.
I swear this blog isn't anti-bear!
Also, I'm sick of talking about it.
 
 
SO!
 
 
Here's a new kind of entry: one in which I discuss the Awesome Medical Personnel (AMPs) who have made all of the crappy procedures and testing and waiting around and uncertainty and fear that much more bearable (and in some cases, that much more amusing). Seriously, it helps, and I'm super appreciative. Not all of the doctors and nurses and techs and assistants are hilarious and outgoing; not all of them crack inappropriate jokes when I burst into tears of frustration or go out of their way to brighten otherwise crappy situations. But as a whole (and I'm having a really hard time thinking of any real assholes) they have all been patient and kind. Whenever I'm feeling pissed off about my AAC, or feeling kind of miserable and frustrated with life (this whole week!) an AMP really stands out, and I am grateful for the unexpected dose of levity and compassion.
 
Yesterday I went in for more blood work, after getting a bunch of blood work done at Urgent Care (so, over the 2 days, 7 vials. see visual above). I didn't know that the lab had different hours than the clinic, and so I rolled up at 11:45 and noticed the sign that said "closed between 11:30 and 1pm." I checked in with the receptionist and fully expected to have to slowwwwwwwwly peruse Whole Foods for an hour while I waited, but she said she would check with the nurse and maybe she could squeeze me in.
 
The door opened and I saw a familiar face: this particular nurse checks my vitals before every appointment. The first time we met she told me some random Gallagher joke (the watermelon smashing guy) and I knew I liked her. She ushered me back to the lab area, and while I thanked her for seeing me she shrugged it off and said she just wanted to make sure my specimens went out with the noon collection.

I have one dependable vein, and I told her they had taken blood the other day, and asked if she could still use it. She narrowed her eyes in concentration and poked at it, and then poked at my other arm, and then declared that she could just move farther up and it would probably be fine. I told her to go to town.
 
I turned my head; I felt the cool swipe of alcohol and then the slight prick of the needle and she burst out with, "BOOM SHAKA LAKA BOOM SHAKA LAKA I'm IN!" and I turned to look at her as she did a kind of victory wiggle as she filled the vials. I laughed, and was so startled by her outburst that I turned to face her. I normally don't like to see the blood as it's drawn, but I was so distracted I saw (and heard and felt) the whole operation and I didn't feel the least bit queasy. We chatted away, comparing local emergency rooms and various maladies and before I knew it I was holding a piece of cotton over my twice poked vein and she was labeling the vials to send to the lab.

She taped me up and I thanked her again and she told me to feel better and I left the clinic smiling, which was no small thing.