(Yes, that title is a possibly obscure reference, if you have not listened to Blue October lately, but there you have it, today is an obscure day…)
Ran into my mother-in-law at the clinic this morning. Maybe they schedule blood letting by last name, I don’t know; we were lab buddies. Only, they took just one vial of her blood and off she went on her merry way. Me, on the other hand, they parked in a corner seat so as to be out of the way, and sicced a student phlebotomist upon me.
I know it was a student because it said so, in REALLY BIG LETTERS on his name tag.
That’s even less reassuring than the day I got a student nurse in the delivery room. What’s the worst that she could have done, really? (I mean, besides put her ice-cold hands on my arm repeatedly and make odd crooning sounds in the back of her throat?)
I have a hard and fast rule, while sitting in the lab chair: do not pay attention to the guy with the needle. I sit there, I study the bulletin board and count vials in the storage cabinet, and before I get to twenty or so, they are asking me to hold a tiny little piece of cotton over my latest puncture wound.
Today, however, long after my mother-in-law had come and gone, I was still counting vials.
One hundred eighty eight, one hundred eighty nine…
Seriously, I’m still sitting here? What is he using, a hair’s breadth needle to aspirate my blood with?
“Wow,” he finally says. “They sure ordered a lot of blood work on you today.”
Followed by him readying yet another vial.
I held fast to my principles and did not look at the blood until it was safely drawn, capped and labelled; once it is no longer pumping from my own body, it does not bother me. I pressed the little piece of cotton into the crook of my arm and counted vials–full this time. It occurred to me to wonder if the Imaging Department and the Lab Department of the clinic ever compare notes and if Lab knew I’d been told by Imaging to arrive fasting both food and drink.
As I walked out, leaving a significant part of my fluid weight on the counter, I thought to myself, that can’t be good.
I made it to said imaging department before beginning to doubt my depth perception. I made it to a chair before the entire Pacific Ocean was roaring in my head, over my head, miles above me and I was floundering somewhere at the bottom of it all and the music over the intercom was getting really bizarre. I had a fleeting suspicion that someone was surgically implanting faulty speakers into the depths of my ear canals and then everything was gone.
At some point I woke up, fighting to both surface from the bottom of the ocean and to resist the phantom ear buds. Or at least my brain was. Body was incapable of motion. I was as fully drenched as though I really had taken a seaside dousing, and the nurse was asking me if I thought I could stand up. I looked down at my hand and studied it carefully, and sure enough, it wasn’t responding to any commands I sent it by way of my cerebrum.
Fun times. No answers yet–but it made me remember how very much I hate being sick and count my many blessings for so many years of health.
I know, this isn’t much of world-view Wednesday, is it? I mean, there was that reference to the Pacific Ocean but really, it’s all been about me, me, me. A bit obsessive really. Didn’t intend to get all ghoulish on you, but there it is. Off to bed, with hopes that I do not wake singing along with Blue October for any other reason that their song is stuck on replay in my mental iPod playlist…