Note to self:

Dear Norm,

You have small, uncooperative veins. When you mention to the phlebotomist at the church's blood drive that you are difficult to stick, and she looks at you with a little bit of fear in her eyes and says, "we'll be fine", stop. Do not pass go. Do not say to yourself, "I'm sure the reason that she has her name written on a piece of tape stuck to her lab coat is due to forgetfulness, and not at all a sign of someone in her first week on the job."

No, what you shall do in the future is this:
1. politely stand next to the chair.
2. ask for the expert in the room, preferably someone who has taught phlebotomy to others in the past (that's a pretty good sign, in my experience)
3. refuse to let them tell you that it will probably be okay.

Trust me, it's not worth it to get stuck in two arms by two people to try to get one pint of blood, because you don't want to hurt the newbie's feelings. Better to just have someone do it right the first time.

Love,
Norm

P.S. Today's Red Cross hero was named Steve Stick. Remember that name-- and ask for him if he's there next time.




Note to others who might be reading this note to myself: I take much pride in the fact that my Grandma Bug was apparently often "the expert" in her years working for the Red Cross, with the blood mobile. I bet she would have gotten my my petite veins to cooperate on the first try. She had beautiful hands.

What a failure.

I attempted to donate blood this afternoon. I'm not new to blood donation, I've given well over a gallon at this point. And this drive is held at a very good place to donate. It is in the main club room of a retirement home, and they have sandwiches, and drink choices, and cookies. Lots of them. MUCH better than the paltry generic snack selection and stale coffee at the Red Cross Headquarters. It's truly a class act there.

But today didn't go so well. First, the phlebotomist (blood taker) remarks about how hard it will be to get my vein. Not what a gal wants to hear. She does all the prerequisite steps, the vein marking, double checking that I am still who I was thirty seconds ago, double-swabbing with iodine-laden q-tips, etc. The she opens up the needle and pokes clean through to my elbow. Sorry, I exaggerated. But she did have troubles getting the blood flow to start. So she called a guy over. I remember this guy from before. He had no troubles last time he worked on my arm. But today, he wiggled and prodded without success.

This time, though, no such luck. So they called over the team leader. Her magic worked. Things started to go as planned. I was happy. In case you are wondering, having three people fiddling with a needle in your arm-- not terribly fun. But much less painful than the "Cavitron" the dental hygienist attacked me with last week. With things moving along normally now, I went back to reading my book. A few minutes later, the other team leader approached, thinking things had stalled. He was right. He fixed it (without pain, BTW). I was considering kissing him.

But, alas, it was all for naught. Because of the trauma to the vein, it clotted up prematurely, and they were only able to get 3/4 of a pint. Which means that no sick and or bleeding person will get the benefit of my travails. Instead, it will potentially be given to a company for testing of new blood equipment. I guess it's better than being incinerated.

But my arm hurts. It isn't bruised, though. And it took a lot of time away from my real priority for the evening: winding my new yarn for the Mystery Stole 3 knitalong. I really really want to start the swatch.