What a Prick!

follistimSeveral years ago I was undergoing fertility treatments.  Most of the time when people hear about fertility, they probably think it’s all about a woman having to self-inject drugs to stimulate her system.  It’s true, our refrigerator became a kind fertility drug store. Where you might keep your butter and eggs, in our fridge you’d find vials and carry case of the daily doses of things like follistim and prometrium.   We even had our own little red “sharps” container on the night stand.

imagesAnother of the many moving parts in the process was the regular blood draws.  I’d have to go to the doctor’s office on day 3 of my “cycle”, day 7, day 11…you get the idea.  I was having my veins poked and pricked at least 6 days a month.  I got to know the phlebotomists pretty well.  Most of the them were so expert that they could find my family-inherited-tiny-veins and fill two vials before it would collapse.   But sometimes, every so often, particularly if a blood draw day fell on the weekend, I’d come face to face with a less experienced phlebotomist.

On one of those ill-fated weekend days, I was forced to endure a newbie who truly didn’t know what he was doing.  He didn’t have clue number 1 and I had done my part–drank plenty of water to make sure my blood would flow quickly.  By the time someone else stepped in, I’d been pricked by him on my right and left arms near the elbow, my right arm above the elbow on the inside of the arm, and on top of my hand left.  Finally, finally, by some stroke of luck or divine intervention a more experienced person came to my rescue.

imagesCACGIUOAThe techs who made my life better throughout the my fertility journey; the ones who used warm compresses to coax my veins up to the needle, when it would otherwise stay hidden;  these are the folks who I wish to thank today.

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