Post #93: Slow poke

WHY DOES THE CHAIR NOT RECLINE?!

Yesterday my nurse ordered some blood work, and for some reason I had a strong compulsion to actually go out and get the damn labs drawn. I could have waited until the next day; I wasn't having weird new symptoms; I certainly wasn't in a hurry to get poked (ha); but for some reason, in the back of my tired, spacey, drugged up mind, I thought, "best attend to this now." Fine, sick brain, I'll get right on it.

Even though I was nauseous and a little dizzy, I pulled up my yoga pants and drove to the neighborhood clinic where I usually get my blood drawn. I had a rockin' a capella CD in the car, a full bottle of Gatorade, and the desire to actually accomplish something with my day. I expected to be in and out in 15 minutes. This was only a two-tube visit.

Remember how a few posts ago, I mentioned that a nurse told me my one good vein was developing some scar tissue? Wishing to preserve the functionality of the aforementioned vein, I suggested that the we perhaps try to fill the vials from a new source during this particular visit. Surely, between both arms, hands, legs, whatever, I had another viable option, no?

Actually, no.

I used to have a desperate fear of getting blood drawn, but a few dozen blood lettings have take the edge off that particular phobia. As long as I don't watch it happen or discuss it while it's happening, I'm usually pretty good to go. I'll make small talk as you tighten up that tourniquet; I'll make jokes with you as I pump my fist; I'll even hold the damn cotton ball in place while you root around for a band aid. But unless you want to unpeel me from the floor, that's as close as you'll let me get to the action.

Yesterday, the cheerful nurse scoured my arms, diligently pulling my flesh taut to check for good contenders, poking and prodding beneath my skin with a practiced touch. Vein #1 seemed like a sound choice; a heating pack was deployed to bring it closer to the skin; and: poke!

You can tell when shit is going down incorrectly. Here are some things you do not want to hear during a blood draw:

I think it's in (that's what she said....sorry)
God, your vein is so squirmy! It's squirming all around
I had it a second ago
Hmmm
Yeah, this one's done

When you're about to pass out, there is a clarity of thought that occurs. You would think it would be the opposite; as the blood rushes from your head and extremities, (protect the organs! protect the organs!) it would only make sense for the brain to compensate by thinking pleasant nonsensical thoughts like unicornfluffycloudjustinbeibericecreamcake before you hit the deck. Not so-my brain snapped to attention like an angry, angry drill Sargent:

OK BODY! You are about to pass out! That is why it sounds like you are under water! CAN YOU MAKE IT TO THE BATHROOM!? There is a bathroom 2.5 feet ahead, can you make it? I SAID CAN YOU MAKE IT MAGGOT!? You WILL NOT PASS OUT IN THIS CHAIR do you hear me?? We pass out on floors, not chairs. We have prepared for this. We have trained for this. DROP TO YOUR KNEES SOLIDER!

As I was deciding whether I was going to puke or lose consciousness first, I made the rational decision to do either on the floor instead of the stupid blood letting chair THAT DIDN'T RECLINE. After informing the nurse that I "just didn't feel well right now hold on" about 10 times (not that she was coming after me with another needle or anything), I told her that maybe it would be nice to "just sit down on the floor for a while." She directed me to the nearest wall and told me to lean against it and slide down to the floor (done!). I was sweating profusely and holding on to my Gatorade with a death grip. My wet hands connected with the lab floor. I believe the whole situation could be described as "ick." I was flopped onto the linoleum like a flaccid tuna.

The nurse awkwardly propped my legs up against a cabinet (the space was not designed for this purpose), and with a few sips of Gatorade and some nostril breathing, I calmed down. The whir of the centrifuge was soothing. I consoled myself with the fact that the floor looked pretty clean, all things considered. The nurse hovered, brought in her supervisor who called me honey and told me "it happens all the time," and then another colleague. The whole time, I apologized and told her I have tricky veins and a lot of other people have had problems and it's ok! The three nurses crouched beside me on the floor, and once again felt up my arms, pushing and poking and pulling, six hands trying to find a better vein. Another was selected; I asked to stay on the floor; and supplies were spread out on my lap like a vampire picnic, needle and tubes and alcohol  wipes, oh my!

Again: poke!

Though painful, this one had purchase. I could tell it was in a vein, and I could feel the nurse pushing it farther up and up to make sure it stayed there. I felt her attach a tube, and I breathed a sigh of relief until I realized no one was talking.

Me: Um, is it in?
Nurses: (Silent)
Me: Well, I can feel that it's in. Is it working?
Nurse 2 hands a new tube to Nurse 1: Well, I had a good first flush and now nothing is coming out.
Me: (slightly hysterical): What do you mean nothing is coming out?!
Nurse 1: Well, a few drops. It's just going really slowly.
Me (starting to get nauseous): Do you want me to pump or something? HOW MUCH BLOOD DO YOU REALLY NEED!?

The nurses conference-well, maybe half a tube only for this test, a little more for that one......

I finally call time out-obviously this isn't working. The nurses agree, the needle comes out. Nurse 3 comes forward and assures me she's "really good with hands." I'm still on the floor, and I make an executive decision: I have one more poke left in me. Perhaps it's time to go with the sure thing, the one good vein, scar tissue be damned.

Nurse 1 has given up at this point; Nurse 3 is elected to do the final draw. After combing over both hands, she gives up and readies old faithful.

"I'm a really slow poke!" I look at her with wide eyes. Seriously!? The ringer is a slow poke? AWESOME.

Seeing my raised eyebrow, she laughs. "No, no, it just takes me forever to set up! Ha! I get it, slow poke. A guy last week made fun of me for that too! Don't worry, just a little poke!"

Ol' bluey fills up the two vials like a champ. I want to tell Nurse 1 not to feel bad but I don't want to seem like a jerk. I get my band aid(s) and slowly rise from the floor. They tell me to wait, but I want to go outside where it's cold and away from this little lab alcove. Because I have been seated in a "V" shape for more than 20 minutes (back against the wall, legs up against the cabinet) the entire right side of my body, from ass cheek to foot, is numb. I kind of limp off, and I can feel the nurses staring, but I high tail it out of there and wish everyone a good day, or at least a better day then I am having.

On the way home, I buy myself some soup and some bread. That night I eat toast for the first time in two weeks. I accomplish something after all.