It Hurts to Type-- Fuck You DECH
So, a few days ago I made a trip to the hospital to have some bloodwork done. At 6:45. In the morning. Meanwhile, my dad has an appointment at noon and he's bitching that it's not as early as mine. I just don't DO 6:45. Even when I'm staying up all night, I like to get to bed by 6 or so in order to get to sleep before the sun comes up. And I sure as hell never get up at 6AM (which is what I had to do in this instance). In any case, I actually managed to get to sleep at a half-decent hour, and got up at 6AM with a good 4-5 hours of sleep. I made it to the hospital at 6:40, walked inside and took my number, which was 506. Then they read out the number they were currently at. It was 482. Yeah, I got well acquainted with the waiting room.
See, it turns out that every asshole with an appointment before noon showed up at 6:30 so that they could get in early (which they are specifically told not to do). So I didn't get my number called until 7:30. A guy waltzed in at 7:20, got the number 507, and actually got in before me since the lady who called his number processed him more quickly. So, yeah, I'd have been far better off just sleeping in and showing up at 7:30 than actually trying to keep my goddamn appointment, because apparently noone is this fucking city sleeps in. Once my number finally did get called, I was allowed to walk into the next room, which was another waiting room. Fifteen minutes later, a chair opened up for me. Apparently someone hadn't showed up that morning and they were understaffed. Of course, the moment the lady got around to me, I had to tell her that I'd fainted before, and then I was sent back to the second waiting room to wait for a bed.
At the point, I should probably digress and explain that a little more. You see, I historically have never had a problem with needles or blood tests. In fact, I've been tested for diabetes every couple of years since like age 6, mostly because of the large volumes of water that I drink. But roughly a year ago, that all changed. That day, like always, I managed to get the new girl, who peppered my arm with holes in an attempt to find some blood. I've never had anyone get successful on the first try. I didn't think that it was bothering me, and in fact, I was engrossed in a novel through most of it, but then she asked me how I was doing. I thought about it for a moment, then said "Actually, I feel a little..." *black* Next thing I know, I'm on my back with 4 people leaning over me and explaining to me that I fainted.
I've never fainted before (or since), and I found the whole experience of losing a few seconds of my life very disconcerting, and now, wouldn't you know it, bloodwork bothers me. I've essentially been ruined for life. What used to be routine is now a trial, and I'm obligated to mention it every time I go in there (since, as my doctor put it: "None of those girls could pick someone your size up from the floor"), and have them fuss over me like a baby, which I find infuriating and humiliating. And inevitably, they always ask me how I feel over and over, and I never know how to answer, since the one time I did faint I had almost no warning, which makes them fuss even more. *sigh*
Anyway, back to my most recent trial by needle. They got me a bed, and, wouldn't you know it, they send the new new girl to poke holes in me. After poking around both of my arms (both with fingers and needles), she left me and they called in the expert on staff. Seeing that both of my arms were no longer viable, she decided to take the blood out of the back of my right hand. All 8 vials. How I envy the normal people who get to go in and just have 2 or 3 vials taken. I don't think I've ever had less than 5. This actually wasn't too bad though-- she said that it hurts worse to take it out of the hand, but I felt barely a twinge at the time. Then she gave me some orange juice, had me lie down for a few more minutes, and then I was out the door to get some breakfast in preparation to come back in two hours for my post-eating vial.
Since I was in there for over 2 hours, the parking cost me $3.00, and then at McDonalds I had to wait out by the drive-thru for 15 minutes because apparently a hashbrowns-only order is too fucking complicated. Then I went home, played a little Final Fantasy II-A/IV-J and drove back to the hospital. Fortunately, I'm always allowed to just waltz in past the waiting room for the follow up, so the second trip was relatively painless. Figuratively, at least. Since pretty much every other part of me was full of holes, she decided to take the last vial out of the ring finger on my other hand. I HATE getting blood taken out of my finger. I can think of few sensations less pleasant than the scraping of the vial along the cut to get the blood. At least I'm told that I bleed readily out of my finger-- it's good to know that it comes out somewhere. This visit only took about 5 minutes, and then I was right back out the door, feeling confident that I could stay on my feet after the finger prick. Another $1.50 parking payment later, and I was on my way back home where I could finally relax.
Now, several days later, both of my hands hurt. The back of my right one, from which the majority of the blood was taken, is essentially one giant brown welt, while the ring finger on my left hand hurts every time I have to type a 'w', 's', or 'x'. And unfortunately, I can't really give them a rest, since pretty much all of my leisure activities save perhaps television require the use of my hands. Oh well, I'm sure it would be a lot worse if I was working.
See, it turns out that every asshole with an appointment before noon showed up at 6:30 so that they could get in early (which they are specifically told not to do). So I didn't get my number called until 7:30. A guy waltzed in at 7:20, got the number 507, and actually got in before me since the lady who called his number processed him more quickly. So, yeah, I'd have been far better off just sleeping in and showing up at 7:30 than actually trying to keep my goddamn appointment, because apparently noone is this fucking city sleeps in. Once my number finally did get called, I was allowed to walk into the next room, which was another waiting room. Fifteen minutes later, a chair opened up for me. Apparently someone hadn't showed up that morning and they were understaffed. Of course, the moment the lady got around to me, I had to tell her that I'd fainted before, and then I was sent back to the second waiting room to wait for a bed.
At the point, I should probably digress and explain that a little more. You see, I historically have never had a problem with needles or blood tests. In fact, I've been tested for diabetes every couple of years since like age 6, mostly because of the large volumes of water that I drink. But roughly a year ago, that all changed. That day, like always, I managed to get the new girl, who peppered my arm with holes in an attempt to find some blood. I've never had anyone get successful on the first try. I didn't think that it was bothering me, and in fact, I was engrossed in a novel through most of it, but then she asked me how I was doing. I thought about it for a moment, then said "Actually, I feel a little..." *black* Next thing I know, I'm on my back with 4 people leaning over me and explaining to me that I fainted.
I've never fainted before (or since), and I found the whole experience of losing a few seconds of my life very disconcerting, and now, wouldn't you know it, bloodwork bothers me. I've essentially been ruined for life. What used to be routine is now a trial, and I'm obligated to mention it every time I go in there (since, as my doctor put it: "None of those girls could pick someone your size up from the floor"), and have them fuss over me like a baby, which I find infuriating and humiliating. And inevitably, they always ask me how I feel over and over, and I never know how to answer, since the one time I did faint I had almost no warning, which makes them fuss even more. *sigh*
Anyway, back to my most recent trial by needle. They got me a bed, and, wouldn't you know it, they send the new new girl to poke holes in me. After poking around both of my arms (both with fingers and needles), she left me and they called in the expert on staff. Seeing that both of my arms were no longer viable, she decided to take the blood out of the back of my right hand. All 8 vials. How I envy the normal people who get to go in and just have 2 or 3 vials taken. I don't think I've ever had less than 5. This actually wasn't too bad though-- she said that it hurts worse to take it out of the hand, but I felt barely a twinge at the time. Then she gave me some orange juice, had me lie down for a few more minutes, and then I was out the door to get some breakfast in preparation to come back in two hours for my post-eating vial.
Since I was in there for over 2 hours, the parking cost me $3.00, and then at McDonalds I had to wait out by the drive-thru for 15 minutes because apparently a hashbrowns-only order is too fucking complicated. Then I went home, played a little Final Fantasy II-A/IV-J and drove back to the hospital. Fortunately, I'm always allowed to just waltz in past the waiting room for the follow up, so the second trip was relatively painless. Figuratively, at least. Since pretty much every other part of me was full of holes, she decided to take the last vial out of the ring finger on my other hand. I HATE getting blood taken out of my finger. I can think of few sensations less pleasant than the scraping of the vial along the cut to get the blood. At least I'm told that I bleed readily out of my finger-- it's good to know that it comes out somewhere. This visit only took about 5 minutes, and then I was right back out the door, feeling confident that I could stay on my feet after the finger prick. Another $1.50 parking payment later, and I was on my way back home where I could finally relax.
Now, several days later, both of my hands hurt. The back of my right one, from which the majority of the blood was taken, is essentially one giant brown welt, while the ring finger on my left hand hurts every time I have to type a 'w', 's', or 'x'. And unfortunately, I can't really give them a rest, since pretty much all of my leisure activities save perhaps television require the use of my hands. Oh well, I'm sure it would be a lot worse if I was working.
posted by Jordan at 2:33 PM
6 Comments:
I am somewhat amused by reading a lengthy story that was typed out by you, which concludes with a passage discussing how painful typing has become.
The ironing is delicious.
Fear leads to Anger. Anger leads to Hate. Hate leads to suffering.
Also, I believe it is late enough to mention that this post has managed to inspire one of the programming problems for the UNB fall competition, being held tomorrow.
That sounds interesting. Let me know about it after the competition. Since i doubt you will tell me before hand :P
I'd be somewhat curious to see a copy of it as well.
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