I left the apartment with grim determination. It would be done today, come hell or high water. Just a week prior I had gone down to the lab for blood tests and after 8 or 9 pokes administered by every white coat, they gave up and sent me away. I was off to a different clinic a bit further away, but still close enough for me to go in my power chair. With Joe walking along beside me, we were mostly quiet. These aren't easy days for me.
We arrived at the clinic and were given a number. Mercifully there was room in the waiting room for my scooter and I sat and waited. Waited meaning, of course, stewing in anxiety. When my number was called I requested the most distant room as the way it was configured I'd have the most privacy. I explained to the nurse that I'd been a week before to a different lab and about the pokes and about the failure of them to get even a drop of blood. She nodded and said, 'Well, let me take a look.'
She tried all sorts of different places asked me questions and listened carefully to my answer. It was a thorough examination of every possible vein. Then she said, 'I'm going to try and get this first go, so let me take my time.' I smiled, ruefully (really I did) and let her scour my arms for veins. Then a little light bulb went off in her head. She grinned at me and said, 'I think I know what to do.'
She got a needle. Felt for the vein one last time. Put the needle in and then filled the vials with blood. First try, first hit. This NEVER happens. I was so surprised that I kind of missed what she said but I think she said she used a 'baby needle' because the vein was small.
Whatever she did, it was wonderful. Her manner was such that I'd have forgiven her having to try several times. She really WANTED to make this OK for me. It was like she hadn't forgotten that she was poking the arms of people who have sensibilities.
It can be rare to find those who work with people who remember the humanity of those in their care. Well, she did.
And this human, was grateful for her kind attention.