I get a physical and am reminded how much I hate needles...

I went to a new doctor on Friday morning because I had been meaning to find a new doctor and a health fair we had on Thursday got me into high gear. Since my Dad died, I've had this cough that won't go away. We all got colds when we all got together for my Dad's passing. At the health fair I mentioned, a breathing test confirmed that I may need to see a doctor. The lung function was a little low.

I kind of skimmed my health insurance's web site for doctor and health clinics close to my house and chose one that didn't look too expensive. The one I chose is right next to the local hospital.

I went to this doctor and got a physical, which I hadn't had in about 18 months. My new doctor did the usual checking eyes, ears and listening to my breathing. I was then instructed to go down to their lab to get my blood drawn.

I joked, "Hopefully, they can find a vein in these."

I held out my arms to the doctor elbows down to show my lack of visible veins.

The doctor said, "Oh, they do this all day long. They're experts at drawing blood."

I wasn't very confident about that. I've had a lot of bad luck when it comes to my veins.

There was the time when I was in college that we all went downtown to the plasma center that gave you 20 or so dollars for giving your plasma. The workers there would stick a needle into your arm, which was attached to a machine that sucked out your blood, spun it around various tubes, removed the plasma and inserted it back into your body.

Most people just relaxed and did homework while they sat there with the robotic Dracula sucking out their life. I tried to do that, but noticed something wrong. My arm started to hurt. It felt like a giant vacuum was trying to suck at the bend in my arm. I asked for assurance from the assistant that this was normal. She looked at the machine and tried some settings or whatever, but it continued this way. She left and returned with a doctor. Pretty soon, I had three doctors around me rubbing their chins thoughtfully and nodding. They would take turns twisting the needle in my arm to see if it would get the machine to go. They explained that the machine was starting and stopping because it didn't have enough blood to keep going, so it would shut down and start up again until it had a steady flow of blood.

One of them explained after a while that it appeared that my vein was constricting to a needle being placed in it.

I asked if I could quit, but was told that 'No', I had to grin and bear it because the machine would quit when it was done.

Three and an half hours later, I walked out with my sore arm and my cash.

Everyone at the dorm asked what had happened to me because they had all left hours ago. Apparently, the procedure is only supposed to last 30 minutes. My brother, Bill, told me that he had noticed that there were doctors huddled around someone, and he was wondering what was going on with the poor guy over there. Then one of the doctors moved, and he saw that the poor guy was me!

I swore I'd never give plasma again, which I didn't.

However, I did attempt to make some cash later in college when I tried for the latest medical experiment from the local lab that used college students as test subjects. I was a little distressed when I went in to the test to see if I was eligible when the lab assistant informed me if I got into the experiment that they'd have to draw my blood every hour on the hour for over 3 days!

Then to make matters even worse, they had to draw two large vials of blood to test against to see if I qualified. The assistant managed to get one vial of blood drawn, but then found a lot of trouble with the second vial. The vein just seemed to shut off, so no matter how much the assistant gently pulled, twisted and prodded, no more blood was coming into the vial.

The assistant tried the other arm, but could only get about one fourth of the vial filled with blood. Finally, they took a small needle and pulled the rest out of a bulging vein in my hand, which tickled let me tell you.

I didn't make the experiment, which I secretly thanked God for.

Back to Friday, though...

When I got to the lab, I was ushered to a seat with large arm rests for when the technician draws blood.

The lady asked me which arm I wanted to have blood drawn out of.

I chose my left arm.

She tied that elastic band around my arm and looked for a vein.

I again joked, "Good luck finding a vein."

She smirked a little because I'm sure she hears that all day.

I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable prick. Finally, I felt her swab my arm, which was followed by pain.

I winced.

There were a few pricks of pain. Then it stopped. Relieved, I sighed and opened my eyes. Much to my horror, the technician had not drawn any blood at all! She was moving the needle around in my arm.

"Hmm... Having a problem?" I asked.

"Oh, I can't seem to get into this vein. It's there, but it's not cooperating."

I closed my eyes again and braced for it to end. Suddenly, pain shot through my arm as if she had stabbed me there.

I yelped and screamed a little.

I looked at my arm. She had not drawn any blood at all!

"All of that pain for nothing!" I exclaimed while laughingly nervously.

The technician didn't seem to think it was funny. She switched arms and got it done pretty quick.

I told Laura this story, but instead of sympathy, I got mockery.

"God, you're a wuss," she snorted.

Yes, I am.