Someone brought up getting blood drawn this morning.
Anyway, I started thinking about my history with the timeless process of taking blood, and this was the product.
Remember when you were little and used to get your finger pricked? Diction is key here. That's the perfect verb for it! PRICKed. Note the root word. I sure did, and I sure felt it. When I was little, the doctor could have pumped me FULL of shots, and I'd have been fine, but bring that stupid needle to poke my finger... kill me now.
I had to watch.
That was the real secret. It still hurt, but same with shots. I have to watch the needle go in. I have to know when it's coming. Same thing now when getting my blood drawn. I'm not real sure sometimes if it's a prerequisite or a pleasure. (I know, I'm not right in the head) Either way, I need to look.
**WARNING** Lame story ahead.
I was 14 the last time I went the pediatrician. Awesome. THAT alone makes this story lame. Either way, the lady comes in, I remember, she was short and heavy, she told me she wanted to take blood via the tip of my finger. She told me to pick the hand I am not affluent with, left, and use what she said her kids referred to as "the bad finger". Alright, so she's got my left hand, middle finger in the vice of her hand, and she says, "look away". OH NO, I'm intently staring, and I had already informed her I hate this process more than ANYTHING. She's like, "Psssshhhh, it's no big deal." As she hits it, the result is the loudest most audible "OW" I've ever let out in my life to this day. The nurse practically jumped away from me, it scared the pants off of her. My mom just sat there laughing. Typical.
Either way, I was thrilled when they finally started hitting up the vein in my arm for blood. I'll admit I might have felt a bit apprehensive my first time, but that dissipated within seconds of the practice itself taking place.
I figure, now that I'm a big girl, I can donate too. Why not? The "Blood Mobile" makes its usual yearly stop at LHN, and I'm thinking, "I hate first hour, I'm over 110 lbs, this is my chance!" Turns out this, "I'll do anything to get a day or so off school" attitude of mine came back to bite me in the ass more than just this once. But "Updating the Genetic Code" is a complete other story, and today we're talking about the drawing of blood. So as not to become too tangential? I'lll resume. Oh right, I signed up to give first hour. Smooth, that's Spanish class, and no me gusta Srta. I go down to the Auxillary Gym, and lie myself down on a table. The "nurse" took that HUGE metal piece and just jammed that sucker into my arm. Oh, I watched, and I can still replay it now. She was CALLOUS, but since I'm hardcore, I just threw down a wince, and took note of a friend of mine who was getting hers done at the same time. We decided it'd be sweet to see who could fill up her bag first. So everytime the nurse isn't looking, I start pumping my hand on the ball to make my blood pump faster into the bag. I won. However, I failed to realize the drawback I had created for myself... first hour wasn't over yet. So, I walk SLOWLY back over to the exit door. The nurses offer me some juice/cookies, the standard, and I said, yeah I think I'd like some, my head feels a bit... and OH MY GOSH, before I finished the word "dizzy", 3 nurses with the strength of 12 linebackers FLY over, shoving hands up under my armpits to carry me over to a cot behind a curtain. Mind you, I was only faking the whole dizzy feeling to miss class and eat a cookie. But by this time, the nurses are out of control. There are tons of people at the door, checking me out behind this curtain, lying on a cot, nurses pulling my knees up. I think I forgot to mention that I'm also BREATHING INTO A WHITE PAPER LUNCH BAG. I'm trying my hardest to stifle back my own laughter while my friends waiting to donate think I've passed out or SOMETHING.
Don't fuck with the Blood Mobile nurses. They'll getcha everytime. ;)
farewell.
Me.
Seacrest OUT.
Anyway, I started thinking about my history with the timeless process of taking blood, and this was the product.
Remember when you were little and used to get your finger pricked? Diction is key here. That's the perfect verb for it! PRICKed. Note the root word. I sure did, and I sure felt it. When I was little, the doctor could have pumped me FULL of shots, and I'd have been fine, but bring that stupid needle to poke my finger... kill me now.
I had to watch.
That was the real secret. It still hurt, but same with shots. I have to watch the needle go in. I have to know when it's coming. Same thing now when getting my blood drawn. I'm not real sure sometimes if it's a prerequisite or a pleasure. (I know, I'm not right in the head) Either way, I need to look.
**WARNING** Lame story ahead.
I was 14 the last time I went the pediatrician. Awesome. THAT alone makes this story lame. Either way, the lady comes in, I remember, she was short and heavy, she told me she wanted to take blood via the tip of my finger. She told me to pick the hand I am not affluent with, left, and use what she said her kids referred to as "the bad finger". Alright, so she's got my left hand, middle finger in the vice of her hand, and she says, "look away". OH NO, I'm intently staring, and I had already informed her I hate this process more than ANYTHING. She's like, "Psssshhhh, it's no big deal." As she hits it, the result is the loudest most audible "OW" I've ever let out in my life to this day. The nurse practically jumped away from me, it scared the pants off of her. My mom just sat there laughing. Typical.
Either way, I was thrilled when they finally started hitting up the vein in my arm for blood. I'll admit I might have felt a bit apprehensive my first time, but that dissipated within seconds of the practice itself taking place.
I figure, now that I'm a big girl, I can donate too. Why not? The "Blood Mobile" makes its usual yearly stop at LHN, and I'm thinking, "I hate first hour, I'm over 110 lbs, this is my chance!" Turns out this, "I'll do anything to get a day or so off school" attitude of mine came back to bite me in the ass more than just this once. But "Updating the Genetic Code" is a complete other story, and today we're talking about the drawing of blood. So as not to become too tangential? I'lll resume. Oh right, I signed up to give first hour. Smooth, that's Spanish class, and no me gusta Srta. I go down to the Auxillary Gym, and lie myself down on a table. The "nurse" took that HUGE metal piece and just jammed that sucker into my arm. Oh, I watched, and I can still replay it now. She was CALLOUS, but since I'm hardcore, I just threw down a wince, and took note of a friend of mine who was getting hers done at the same time. We decided it'd be sweet to see who could fill up her bag first. So everytime the nurse isn't looking, I start pumping my hand on the ball to make my blood pump faster into the bag. I won. However, I failed to realize the drawback I had created for myself... first hour wasn't over yet. So, I walk SLOWLY back over to the exit door. The nurses offer me some juice/cookies, the standard, and I said, yeah I think I'd like some, my head feels a bit... and OH MY GOSH, before I finished the word "dizzy", 3 nurses with the strength of 12 linebackers FLY over, shoving hands up under my armpits to carry me over to a cot behind a curtain. Mind you, I was only faking the whole dizzy feeling to miss class and eat a cookie. But by this time, the nurses are out of control. There are tons of people at the door, checking me out behind this curtain, lying on a cot, nurses pulling my knees up. I think I forgot to mention that I'm also BREATHING INTO A WHITE PAPER LUNCH BAG. I'm trying my hardest to stifle back my own laughter while my friends waiting to donate think I've passed out or SOMETHING.
Don't fuck with the Blood Mobile nurses. They'll getcha everytime. ;)
farewell.
Me.
Seacrest OUT.
posted by Michele at 10:36 AM
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