Family and close friends know that I despise anything involving needles and my flesh. I was the child who kicked and screamed and had to be held down for vaccinations. I'm sure my outbursts caused many a doctor to consider abandoning the profession.
I reached the age of 18 and realized that in order to keep utter humiliation at bay, I would have to sit still and attempt to remain calm. Falling in the floor and flailing could no longer be an option if I desired to retain some shred of dignity.
The years following high school came and went with no needles. That changed today. I never thought I would see the day where I would choose to have a needle stabbed into my helpless veins. In the past, it has required the pleas of my mother and stern warnings from medical professionals peppered with words such as "chronic" and "the only option".
I entered the clinic hoping that the doctor would also be a medical prophet, capable of diagnosing me without needles. The nurse said, "We'll need to do bloodwork". I'm sure I visibly cringed.
In my years as a needle-phobic, whimpering patient, I have learned that fear causes an interesting response in doctors, nurses, and even dentists. Bar none, they all respond kindly, if not a little amusedly, and tell me about the entire procedure. I would like to attribute the reaction to compassion alone, but I think the wild animal look of terror on my face that silently screams, "You make one false move that causes me undue pain and I will turn every instrument in this room on you in ways for which they were not intended." probably has something to do with it, too.
Today was no different. I made a comment about not liking needles. The nurse stopped at the door and said, "Oh, really?". I proceeded to tell her about my past of crying and flailing, ending the account with, "But, I don't do that anymore because I figure the humilation is worse." I then added, so as not to lose the fear factor, "However, I haven't had blood drawn in five years, so I hope I haven't regressed." The nurse laughed, but I detected a hint of worry. I then prepared myself for the lengthy procedural explanation to follow when she returned with the needle. By the way, I made sure she brought back a butterfly needle. I asked 42 times, seriously. I wanted to be absolutely sure.
The kind nurse looked at both of my arms and said, "Are your veins always this small and hard to find?". Well, I don't know. Looking for my veins is not one of my all-consuming hobbies. She pressed on my arm and said, "I found one!". I looked closer and saw nothing. I said, "I don't see anything.". She heard the fear and saw the aforementioned wild animal look, so she informed me that most veins were not visible but had a spongy feel. She even showed me where the vein was, and she was right--it did feel like a sponge. My trust in her vein-seeking abilities was restored.
She decided to try the right arm first. First stick. No pain, but not really much blood, either. She then stuck me closer to the wrist in a more visible vein. Greater amount of pain and no blood. By that time, the nurse was apologizing and I was saying, "Oh, don't worry about it. The pain isn't that bad." It was not the nurse's fault that I was born with invisible, microscopically tiny veins. After the second attempt, the nurse left the room and I heard her in the hallway say to the doctor, "I've tried twice to get blood, and I don't want to have to stick her again. Would you do it?".
The doctor entered and tried my left arm. First stick. No blood, way more pain. Even more pain as the doctor dug around muttering, "I think the needle hit a wall or a valve." What am I, a home construction project? As the needle went deeper, my (still polite and calm, I might add) comments of "Ouch" and "Wow, that really hurts." increased.
Blood finally began to flow into the tube and everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief. We breathed too soon. Not only do I have tiny veins, I discovered I also have slow blood--the slowest the doctor had ever seen actually. As I sat there with a needle and plastic tubing poking out of my left arm, the doctor commented, "I sure hope the blood doesn't clot in the tube before we have a chance to get enough and test it. This is the longest I've ever seen it take to draw blood!". I smiled feebly and attempted to be witty, saying something about breaking a record. I was actually thinking "Why don't you just amputate. You'd be sure to get blood then!".
When the tube began filling up, the doctor spoke up again with, "Your blood is darker than most other blood I've seen." I asked if dark blood was a problem. She said, "Not neccessarily, but the tests will show any abnormalities." Thank you, Doctor Encouragement.
The doctor eventually was satisfied with the amount of blood in the tube and took the needle out of my arm. The ordeal took approximately 20 minutes. I walked out of the clinic with two band-aids on the right arm and one on the left. I really wanted a sticker, washable tattoo, or lollipop. I guess they don't give those to twenty-two year olds.
As a side note, doctor's office band-aids are not the same as civilian band-aids. The three on my arms were obviously created by a team of NASA scientists and the manufacturers of Gorilla Glue.
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