This morning I took a trip to Ye Old Medical Lab for some routine blood work. The blood work itself was routine, but it messed up my own routine by requiring that I fast this morning. FAST. As in No Breakfast For You. On a morning that I was especially Hungry. I thought about sneaking a bowl of Fiber One cereal since the large amounts of fiber (hence the name) don’t allow the food to stay in my digestive system for very long, causing minimum impact. So that’s kind of like fasting, right? But when I thought about it a little more I realized that my hips don’t lie and maybe my little fiber theory isn’t entirely valid. WebMD does not a doctor make.
(At this point I’m sure that my Physician Assistant baby sister is reaching for her cell phone to scoff at my lack of medical knowledge. And maybe I should be going to her for medical advice. She’s got the degree and all. But every time I look at her I see the little girl with pigtails, pointy BX glasses, and a look in her eye that said, “I’m trouble – with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for Pool!” Although she’s not much of a pool player. But I’m a Music Man fan and couldn’t resist. Any Music Man fans out there? Anybody? No? Oh, nevermind.)
So I left the house, escaping the Fiber One lure, and eased on down the road (what’s with the musical references today?) to the medical lab, or, as I like to call it, the House of Pain. You see, my veins take on a cloak of invisibility when they sense the presence of a needle. Those inexperienced with The Needle use me as a pin cushion until I’m on the verge of passing out. So whenever I’m confronted by a new lab technician, I wonder, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
So I walk into the lobby area, sign in, and chat with the technician for a few minutes. She asks me if I’m fasting, and I say yes along with an “I’m ready for a cup of coffee!” She agrees with me but tells me that she can’t have coffee because she’s going through a detox.
No, no, no, this can’t be good.
We’ve established that I do not have a mind filled with medical knowledge, but I’ll go ahead and say that I do not think that people undergoing detox are, shall we say, well-fed. And I’m of the mind that a well-fed person is a happy person. And only happy people should be wielding needles. Especially if those needles are directed toward my person.
We continued with the chit-chat and I relaxed. I tried not to think about the needle, like I was sitting in the funny chair with my sleeve rolled up just because I considered it to be comfortable and a good time to make a fashion statement. I was very pleasantly surprised that the detoxed-yet-wonderful lab technician got what she needed with one stab.
I feel that it’s important to compliment good work, so I told her that I appreciated her expertise and the minimum of pain. She shared her secret with me – you may not be able to see a vein, but you can feel it. She simply knew what she was doing. And I realized that if you want something done right, you’ve gotta go to the experts.
Words to live by, my friend. Words to live by.
So I went on my merry way and rewarded myself with a trip to Starbucks for a biscotti and tall skinny vanilla latte. Actually, I tried to convince myself that I deserved a full sugar latte, for the pain and suffering and all, but Myself didn’t buy it. So I got the skinny latte…and totally forgot about the biscotti. Coffee on an empty stomach. Nice. Pouring salt on the wound, so to speak.
That’s how my work day began – little food, a lot of blood, and a very boring story to share.
Thank you for reliving the experience with me.