Blood Work

It was a crisp fall morning.  Most of the cars were heading east towards town, but I was the only one heading west towards the medical center to get my blood work done.  This was the first time going to this new medical center since we moved back in the spring.  It took me turning around once and refreshing myself on the map to figure out where I was supposed to go. 

Once I found the right building, I walked in and took my number.  I was the third person in the tiny room.  The other two occupants were a middle-aged woman with glasses and an elderly woman walking with a cane.  In our small talk, I found out she had knee surgery nine months ago and was using the cane to help during her recovery.  Even though I've done this same song and dance half a dozen times since being diagnosed with diabetes, I felt a little out of place being as young as I am. 

After both women were called back, I was left in the waiting room by myself.  I took the opportunity to snap a photo for the Waiting with Diabetes Flickr group: 

Good thing I didn't have to wait long.  Those chairs were not very comfy. 

The young nurse called my number.  She was dressed up in Auburn scrubs, so we immediately had something to talk about.  We discussed the Arkansas game coming up (which we won! woo!) while she took my insurance card.  She began setting up her things, and I noticed the huge needle about to make its way in my arm.  She looked at my blood work request form and said, "Oh, we also need a urine sample from you.  I didn't notice that."  Peachy, apparently giving a urine sample is some sort of honor.  So I made my way to the bathroom down the hall and . . . donated. 

Walked back into the nurse's office and sat back down in the chair.  "Which arm do you want to do do?"  I motioned toward my left arm and said, "I guess this one."  She tied the rubber ribbon around my bicep and began flicking my vein.  She kept flicking, and kept flicking, and kept flicking.  "Hmmm, it doesn't want to come up does it?"  "Yeah, my veins are always hard to find."  I was just praying that she got it on the first try, I didn't want to go through a failed vein prick and have to start all over.  She picked up the needle from the table, and I turned my head to the right and closed my eyes.  "Little pinch," she said.  I felt the needle go in and shut my eyes even tighter.  "You OK?" she asked.  "Yeah, I just don't like to look." 

A few seconds passed and she said, "Hold this and apply pressure."  I looked over and the needle was out and she was holding a cotton ball on my vein.  I let out a sigh and put my right index and middle finger over the ball.  Then she wrapped up my elbow with flesh-colored wrapping and said, "OK, you're all set." 

"Thanks." 

"Now go get you some breakfast."  Gladly . . .