Several billion pokes later...
I went in bright and way-too-early for my 3-hour glucose tolerance test this morning, having not eaten or drank anything but water since 6 the night before. I got there just before they opened the lab/clinic doors at 6 am and there was a long line already formed outside of old geezers who, like me, had been required to fast for one test or another. It took another half-hour for me to get called back for PokeFest 2005. During this time, I suggested repeatedly that we get the show on the road (Hel-LO! Starving tired pregnant woman here!), making the receptionist/phlebotomist decide I was too rambunctious and cranky for her liking. At one point she suggested that she "would be here all day, so I can make you wait another three hours if I like". GrrrRRR!
Eventually I did get called back by an elderly black gentleman who introduced himself as Rufus, "your cousin." Rufus's last name was also O'Neal, "of the black Irish O'Neals", he joked. I liked Rufus very much, but my veins did not. No finger-sticks for these professionals, nosirree. I had to undergo 4 full-on blood draws (one before my sugary beverage, then one each hour for three hours thereafter). Rufus took two unsuccessful stabs (literally) at the first draw before passing me on to Evil Receptionist/Phlebotomist (EPR), who got me on her first try. I drank my near-nauseating amount of sugar and then took it upon myself to pace in the waiting room for at least a half-hour, probably disturbing the geezers but certainly helping my metabolism. Who can sit still with 10,000 liquid Pixy Stix coursing through their veins anyway?
Rose, a talented lady, did my second draw on the first try. EPR did my third draw, and showed great determination to make her poke-hole gush, drawing the needle IN and OUT and IN and OUT of my left arm, which is now so bruised I can't bend my elbow. Rose did my last draw, and, after failing in her first poke, took after EPR in her repeated plunging to score with a deep vein in my right arm. Can you say OUCH WITH A SIDE OF FLYING BURRITOS?
But it is over now. Due to the tube-enclosed nature of the samples they took, however, I have no idea how I did. I should get the results from my prenatal office by the end of the week; please oh please let me pass this time.
Oh yeah, and the boys...Michael took care of Isaac all morning long while I was in my medieval torture session. I called once and asked how Dada was taking to his job of Isaac Breakfast Procurement (a task to which he is a stranger), and was informed that there would be PopTarts, and probably pickles involved. This is Dada-Speak for "leave me alone, woman, I know what I'm doing". Later on, when we met Dada for a pre-lunch payday Starbucks run, he revealed that he had seriously enjoyed his morning snuggle-time with the boy. And then he took off of work at 3:30 to help us grocery-shop. That Isaac, man. He's addictive.
Eventually I did get called back by an elderly black gentleman who introduced himself as Rufus, "your cousin." Rufus's last name was also O'Neal, "of the black Irish O'Neals", he joked. I liked Rufus very much, but my veins did not. No finger-sticks for these professionals, nosirree. I had to undergo 4 full-on blood draws (one before my sugary beverage, then one each hour for three hours thereafter). Rufus took two unsuccessful stabs (literally) at the first draw before passing me on to Evil Receptionist/Phlebotomist (EPR), who got me on her first try. I drank my near-nauseating amount of sugar and then took it upon myself to pace in the waiting room for at least a half-hour, probably disturbing the geezers but certainly helping my metabolism. Who can sit still with 10,000 liquid Pixy Stix coursing through their veins anyway?
Rose, a talented lady, did my second draw on the first try. EPR did my third draw, and showed great determination to make her poke-hole gush, drawing the needle IN and OUT and IN and OUT of my left arm, which is now so bruised I can't bend my elbow. Rose did my last draw, and, after failing in her first poke, took after EPR in her repeated plunging to score with a deep vein in my right arm. Can you say OUCH WITH A SIDE OF FLYING BURRITOS?
But it is over now. Due to the tube-enclosed nature of the samples they took, however, I have no idea how I did. I should get the results from my prenatal office by the end of the week; please oh please let me pass this time.
Oh yeah, and the boys...Michael took care of Isaac all morning long while I was in my medieval torture session. I called once and asked how Dada was taking to his job of Isaac Breakfast Procurement (a task to which he is a stranger), and was informed that there would be PopTarts, and probably pickles involved. This is Dada-Speak for "leave me alone, woman, I know what I'm doing". Later on, when we met Dada for a pre-lunch payday Starbucks run, he revealed that he had seriously enjoyed his morning snuggle-time with the boy. And then he took off of work at 3:30 to help us grocery-shop. That Isaac, man. He's addictive.
posted by Claire at 7:30 PM
3 Comments:
Sorry that the test was such a harsh one! Hope the results are good!
Don't ya just love it when the men "melt" around the kiddos?!
Claire, I could almost feel the pain of the pokes when I was reading that! I hate giving blood cause I have absolutely no veins. I don't think I would have survived the 3 hour test like you did. You were great! I hope everything turns out okay with the test!
Gotta love that Daddy and son time!
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