I saw Angie today. She’s the phlebotomist at a local medical lab. I needed blood drawn to make sure the Lipitor that’s supposed to save me doesn’t kill me. I’d like to strike that delicate balance with my bodily fluids, if possible.
I used to have my blood drawn in at a lab in a large medical center building. It’s tall and shiny and there’s always at least one ambulance parked out front. It looks official. Years ago it was a regional headquarters building for IBM. Now you can get you colon scoped there–and I have.
This new lab is in a basement. You can’t make this stuff up. Helaine’s been there. She asked if it reminded me of the subway? Yes.
Angie did a great job. I had much more imagined panic than real pain. I looked at my puncture wound after she’d removed the spike from my vein. “I’d make an awful IV drug user,” I said. That’s my attempt at medical lab small talk.
Meanwhile, Angie was taking two large pieces of adhesive tape and and pressing them on some gauze on my arm to stop a tiny trickle of blood. To heck with the needle. I was scared about that tape on my hairy arm! Before the glue had a chance to set she pulled it off and replaced it with a bandage the size of a nickle. I’m much happier now.
I walked up the stairs and onto the street. It’s my custom to call Helaine and tell her I wasn’t too much of a wuss. As I pulled my phone from my pocket I caught sight of my shoes.
OMG! Two totally different shoes.
They were both black but they were obviously from two different pairs. Is this what stress does to me? At work tonight Ann Nyberg admitted this was something she’d done too. That was surprising.
My family was understanding and supportive, especially Stef who I told on IM.
We’re saving up to buy her upper case letters.
They’d better not lose my blood. I can’t do this again.