Yesterday was a mid-day, day 21 (ish- it was actually day 22) cycle blood test. It has been three months that I’ve been trying to get my blood stolen from me quite rudely on my Day 21- the first few attempts were colossal failures for two reasons:
1. I’m not that motivated to plan having my blood sucked from my body and all that will entail (yes, I hate needles. Yes, there will be more, that doesn’t mean my dizziness, nausea and general feeling of catastrophe will ever pass).
2. My day 21 has landed TWICE on a Sunday… to which there are NO private or public blood collection clinics open in the city. I realize this always on the Sunday (instead of going the day before) and have zero time on the Monday to go in during a work day.
Monday was day 21… and thankfully I forgot my prescription thingy at home. Oh well. Yesterday I had some magical time between clients (and was already between daycare visits) to swing by the hospital and chill out nervously, trying not to vomit all over the nice (blood splattered, no seriously there were blood splatters) floor.
What I noticed about this visit compared to my Day 3 visit? Like this visit the Day 3 nurses new exactly why I was coming in- it had all the trappings of fertility or pregnancy blood work. I got LOADS of questions, cooing, encouragement and general coddling at that visit. TWO nurses helped me (along with PapaBean) get through the experience- it was fantastic. I left feeling weirdly hopeful.
Yesterday was different. Different hospital (and let’s be honest, blood drops on the floor do not induce confidence) with extremely cranky nurses. That said… as soon as a pregnant lady walked up to the counter there was cooing and ouuing and general exclamations of amaze-balls. I perked up. Maybe when the receptionist nurse lady saw MY blood work she would give me another song and dance. I mean- one can only hope?
Nope. It was clear this nurse came to a whole other (and to be fair, more accurate) conclusion: this bloodwork was because something isn’t working and we need to actually prove I ovulate. There were murmured questions about whether my coworker knew I was there- (the receptionist knew her and wanted me to pass along a message of “hey, what’s up”), but said in a way that perhaps I would want to hide this. No smiling, no happy song and dance… just a sad look on her face with a little sad smile.
The “nurse” who took my blood actually admitted (after I begged asked her to “please talk to me”) that she was in school for pharmacy and this was “just a job until I’m done my exams”…. PapaBean assures me that most blood work staff are lab techs and this was normal. Except, it made me want to puke all over and she honestly left an ugly bruised circle on my arm.
All in all, I survived another instance of my blood being stolen from me without fainting, vomiting or having to put my head between my knees. I call that a win.
The Little Bean Chronicles 