I saw my doctor today. Yearly physical. Nothing out of the ordinary being 10 years younger wouldn’t fix.
It was shot day. Flu shot left arm. Pneumonia shot right arm. A single vial of blood was drawn–left forearm.
“When you put the alcohol on, I know what’s next.” This is my standard pre-poke ritual. “No talking from then until we’re done, please.” It works.
My fears have been nearly overcome. Years of getting poked and a lovely stay at St. Raph’s in New Haven, taught me to grin and bear it. It wasn’t always this way.
Helaine and I almost didn’t get married because neither one of us was brave enough to have blood drawn. Is that still done?
We were nervous, making the phlebotomist and doctor nervous. Both tried and failed. Not their fault.
I forget how now, but we made some arrangement to see the Tom Brady of phlebotomy. The rest, as they say, is history.
Today’s phlebotomist was “virtually pain free.” As the TV catheter commercial says, “Compared to the others, it weren’t nuthin’.”