There is something about going to have lab work done that puts a lot of us off our game. It’s a part of being healthy, of course, but it’s a complicated process to submit bodily fluid samples or–horrors!!!–let somebody poke your veins with a needle.
People who are on cholesterol medication, for example, know that it’s important to take your statin every day to keep the bad LDL cholesterol down and promote good HDL cholesterol. They need testing to check liver function. People on blood thinners need to get checked regularly to make sure they have a good circulatory system (though new medications are making that more rare).
So when my supply of medication started to run low, I called for a refill and found out they wouldn’t send any more until I had my lab work done to make sure my body was functioning.
Guys, if my body was not functioning, could I put in a request for a medication refill? I’d be un-functioning, as in dead.
Still, the unsympathetic guardians of whole body health demanded I go bleed into a tube for the cause. So I went early one morning and sat in the waiting room at the local lab. Cell phones were forbidden (no email or gaming) and the magazines were from 1997. I was hungry because I had to fast for the lab work, and the program they had on the lobby TV monitor was doing a segment on cookout food. Since all the other patients appeared to have needed to fast before visiting the lab, we were averting our eyes from the rack of ribs. They looked great at 7 AM.
When I got to my assigned drawing station (or cubicle of torment), a sign read “NOTE: Students in training. Your sample may be drawn by one of these students.” Sure students have to learn somewhere, but hire some practice subjects with gigantic, juicy vessels from which they can jab at will, not my petite tertiary roads on the blood vessel highway. I hate coming out of a lab looking like a junkie. Once I was poked four times before a spot yielded results, and I had bruises the size of Rhode Island for a week. Prior to a procedure on another occasion I had four technicians with warm towels and relaxing music trying and failing to get anywhere. If somebody knows what works like Barry White for veins, let me know.
Fortunately I did not get a student; the phlebotomist did admit she was getting over a cold, but she got lucky on the first try, and I didn’t get a bruise.
My pills were ready the next day. So I’ll be good to go for a little while. Also, I went out for some good cookout food.
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