Do you want to talk about my blood test? Let’s talk about my blood test and urine test (surprise!) yesterday. I waltzed down to the doctor’s office at 8:15 a.m. in the morning. The nurse/receptionist was on her bluetooth, but I couldn’t see that she had a bluetooth on because her hair was covering it. She smiled and me and I wrote my name down. No one else was there. The waiting room, which by the way, looks like 1985 threw up all over it, was empty. “Oh GIRRRRRRRRRRRL!” I hear the receptionist yell. “You should do SOMETHIN’ about that. You should DO SOMETHIN’.” It took me some time to realize that she was not talking to me and referring to the horrible bangs I have from a botched haircut, but was talking into her headset to a friend about some issue I was not concerned about. What I was concerned about was the fact that for some reason, my veins are a mystery. They are an enigma. They are a mystery wrapped in an enigma. In short, they are very hard to find. Very hard.
Once when I was in college, I went to the health center to donate blood. I wanted to help. I wanted to save lives. It took 2 med students in training and a professional to declare that blood could not be drawn. FROM EITHER ARM. Yes, that’s right. I’m a mutant creature apparently, with veins that cannot be located.
She took me into the back room and I told her explicitly before we started that my veins are hard to find. She asked if I drank water this morning. I naturally said no, because I was under the impression that I was no meant to eat or drink anything before the test. It just goes to show you how rarely I have these things.
Anyway, she felt around both arms and decided she was going to have a go with my right arm. Fair enough. As she was looking to find a vein, she also came to the conclusion that my veins were a mystery wrapped in an enigma. Surprisingly however, with a bit of prodding, she managed to find a vein, although it was more to the side of my arm, than in the middle. Fine I thought, I don’t even care. You caught a vein on the first try, you’re practically an expert, nurse Bluetooth. She filled up three viles of dark burgundy blood and bandaged me up. You know, I could never be an intravenous drug user, even if I wanted to. I would never be able to find a vein and get high. I’d miss every time.
I was relieved that it was over, however, contrary to what I thought, it was not. On no siree, a urine test was in order – one about which I had NO IDEA ABOUT.
“Now all I need from you is a urine sample. Here’s the cup, your name is on it. Go into the bathroom. There are some wipes in the cabinet. Wipe yourself, then catch the urine MIDSTREAM.”
Sure, why not? This doesn’t sound particularly difficult, except for the fact that I emptied my bladder this morning, BEFORE I came in for a blood test. Had I known I was going to have a urine sample as well, I would have saved all my good pee for you guys. I walked into the restroom nervous. How in the world was I going to trick my body into thinking I had to pee? I reached over to the cabinet and grabbed a towelette and wiped as instructed. I sat down and tried to persuade myself to pee. My stream of thought (no pun intended) went as follows: rivers, lakes, faucet water, big tubs of water, c’mon pee, let’s go pee, rivers, lakes, pregnancy test commercial featuring giant stream of pee, gimme something, anything!
Just then, the flood gates opened for about 5 seconds and I managed to gather about 20 ml of pee. By the way, the cup was about 60 ml, so I tried again. I went through about 4 songs on the Oldies station that I could hear playing in waiting room before I decided that that was all the pee they were getting from me. I took my cup, wrapped it in a towel (per the urine sample instructions on the wall) and left it for the nurse. I grabbed my stuff, said thanks and left, with a throbbing arm and a dehydrated bladder. Then I sat in traffic for an hour until I made it to Santa Monica. What a day.
