“Are you in pain?” The young phlebotomist asked me, in a voice that was a little too loud, with a bit more decibels than necessary.
“No,” I replied.
“Please roll up your sleeves,” she instructed. I did as told. She picked up needle wrappers from one table and trashed it. She got the used torniquet from the table on her left and trashed it. She did this for some time, with me seated there facing her, her audience. Hmm, I thought, “new.”
Over these three years of going back and forth for check-ups, I had to find ways to entertain myself. And one of those is observing my phlebotomists as they draw my precious blood. It takes my mind off the little pain the prick will cause, and it is great entertainment, really. A love-hate relationship maybe: love them because they will tell me what I am wanting to know, and hate them that there will always be pain.
So, I try guessing their ages. See if I can tell if they are having a good/bad day. If they are extroverts or intoverts. New or old hand at drawing blood. Neat freaks or not-so-neat.
She palpated my arm for veins…. No, not there, vein is small and not straight there. She tapped it lightly – I tried to make a fist. Then she got a hot pad and placed it on my arm for a few mintues. I am thinking, “She better get this at first try, or else…”
She applied the torniquet, swabbed the area, brought the tubes (lavender, gold, red) closer to her. She stuck the needle, no backflow – but got it after drawing back the needle by a tiny bit. Okay, she is good. New but good.
That’s my entertainment on this visit.
Plus a nagging thought that will not leave me: Why did I have to spend that long a time deciding what to wear, cleaning and making myself look good, when, as soon as I get to my doctor’s office, I will be instructed to strip down to my underwear and wear the famous patients’ gown? I know, this is not related, but still.
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