Perky Phlebotomists and other Bloody Stories

(I'm particularly proud of this entry title--often those titles are the hardest thing for me to think of with this whole blogging thing.)

So I just got back from having my blood drawn at the off-site hospital lab, routine preggo testing stuff and also some leftover bloodwork from my yearly cancer checkup last month which I was told I could put off until the next time I had bloodwork done (which I knew would be shortly). This lab, which I've been to before (as recently as last month), has the most interesting group of people working there. Every one of them seems to be some sort of character, but none more so than the guy at the front desk. I have no idea what his name is, but he seems like maybe an Alan or a Jeremy to me. So let's call him Alemy.

Alemy is always perky and friendly, in an over-the-top, trying-to-be-witty-banter-boy kind of way. He's what your grandmother might call "overly familiar", considering that he treats you like a buddy (asking, for instance, "so how's work?"). He's right on the edge of my tolerance (and I'm a pretty tolerant person, especially when it comes to characters. I mean, *cough* Sandy *cough*. 'Nuff said.) Today Alemy was dressed in a hawaiian shirt with palm trees and woodies (the cars) on it, and he was chattering non-stop with me. Usually I can dish it back out to him pretty well, but today I was still headachy and not in the greatest of moods, so he kind of grated on me. But I have to hand it to Alemy, despite the constant flow of banter and the general violations of privacy entailed in the personal questions he innocently (in my opinion) asks, he's a fast, efficient, excellent worker. He gets all those triplicate paperwork, computer entry, label printing things out of the way like an administrative olympian.

After finishing up with Alemy, I went into the official phlebotomy room. (I like being able to toss around medical terms like "phlebotomy" and "phlebotomist". I feel like I'm in a secret little medical club that I even know those terms.) Last time I was there, I had this wonderfully bizarre, overly energetic phlebotomist who asked me all kinds of weird questions (I think possibly in an attempt to distract me, although I don't think I looked all that nervous really). I remember he asked "are you a writer?" (Don't know why he asked that question, but I decided to be bold and claim the identity for once.) This led to all kinds of other questions, until I found myself lecturing him on the difference between science fiction and fantasy and the nature of magic and how magic worked in my world. All this while he was poking my inner elbow with a sharp needle. Go figure.

But I digress. This time, I had a different tech, a big huggable bear type of guy (I didn't get his name either) who moved surprisingly fast and efficiently around the chair, and though he was bantery, seemed particularly conscientious, which of course I always appreciate in a person who's about to stick me with a very sharp object. I warned him that my veins were hard to find, and sure enough he tried two times ("sorry, sweetie"), once in each arm. I'll spare you the details of the digging around with the needle trying to make it work, but suffice to say after the second time didn't work out, he called in the big guns: Amber. (Not sure why she was the big guns, but she was.)

Amber turned out to be another remarkably gentle person (maybe there's something about dealing with freaked out needle-phobic patients all day that makes you that way), with a much calmer vibe than the rest of the office. After a bit more banter (calmer and gentler banter), she managed to do the trick on her first try. Whew. So 3 needle sticks, 4 tubes of blood and 2 bandaids later, my phlebotomy experiences are over. For now. This time.

I used to be all wigged out by needles (and blood), but that was way back before I had to have a weekly blood draw during my radiation treatments. And also, let me just point out again, that once you've given birth (let alone had major surgery or survived cancer), these little pinprick experiences become a lot less freaky. Perspective. I guess that's the one thing you get in abundance on the road to adulthood. At least if you're bothering to stop and look around you on the journey.