Ok. So there wasn't really a fire. And it really wasn't his fault; I'm the one who has "rolling" arteries. I'm not sure what I did to get them, but I'm sure it was something good. Who wouldn't want rolling arteries? (Ok. While I'm sure there must be occasions when having arteries that roll is a gift, you really don't want to have them when someone needs to draw blood from them.)Please allow me to digress here by describing my PFT...Three words immediately come to mind: Attention Deficit Disorder. (But if I were told to describe his physical appearance in one word, that word would be "scribbly.")
Now I don't mean to give the wrong impression here...You know I adore people who have ADD. I was just thinking that I might look for someone a little less distracted and scribbly before I handed him a large syringe with a needle on the end (see picture) and instructed him to get blood from my artery. (Alas, that choice was not mine to make. I got Mr. Scribbles.)
Mr. Scribbles really couldn't have been any nicer. Or friendlier. I could (and maybe will -- someday --) do an entire blog on what I learned from him -- about him -- in the relatively short time we had together. For now, though, that would be seriously digressing...
Ok. Back to those rolling arteries...First Mr. Scribbles tried my wrist, but admitted defeat there before he actually hurt me. (When you feel that "little pinch" they always warn you about, it doesn't necessarily mean the needle got where it was supposed to go.) The next best option is the inner elbow, I guess -- it's just not the preferred location, because apparently there's a little cluster of nerves right beside that artery. Mr. Scribbles had to go for it, though.
Oh, he was so apologetic. I , of course, have no idea what he was doing, having looked away. (I cannot stand to watch my own blood being sucked into a syringe via a needle which has been jabbed under my skin -- I'm sure I would have puked on the spot if I'd had to witness an artery rolling!) I gradually became aware of a burning sensation overtaking my entire right arm, and Mr. Scribbles kept saying, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." If I had thought I could manage the words, I would have shouted, "Well then stop it!" As it was, I was totally absorbed in trying to relaxe. Oh -- and breathe evenly. Ha!
Finally Mr. Scribbles had to concede on that artery too, and he went for help. That's when I shoved my head down between my legs because I knew I was going to faint.
Soon the sheepish (he'd bragged that he'd done about 10,000 of these procedures with no problems) PFT returned with a sweet young lady with a voice like velvet, who had me lie down on the cot so she could have a "stab" at it (sorry -my little joke). She kept murmuring "There, there, Honey," as she worked, admitting that that wiggly little artery had rolled away from her, too. She, however, did not give up. Eventually, with only the expected "little pinch" (slightly less little, since this was an artery, and not a mere vein), she was able to get that sucker, extract the required sample and patch me up.
(Amazingly, I was able to walk out an hour later with no residual pain, and no bruises!)
The blood sample showed that my hemoglobin is good. (Big sigh of relief, right?) The breathing tests I performed showed...well, I'm not exactly sure what they showed. I don't think Mr. Scribbles was supposed to tell me anything. He's just lucky that I have ADD, too, and so am unable to recall any of the information that he let slip.
Oh -- guess what...Next Tuesday, when I go in for that scary Fiberoptic Bronchoscopy (the lung biopsy), Mr. Scribbles will be there!
No comments:
Post a Comment