Not that I am calling nurses vampires. Really. I love nurses. And I absolutely know that there is no such thing as a vampire…however, might I please be allowed to whine anyway? I love the Psalms because the Psalms let us hear even the “Apple of God’s Eye” whine. They also let us know that God hears our whining and gives a new perspective. So first, I’ll whine and THEN I’ll give my new perspective.


As with most “women of the home” I have dealt with all manner of crises from skinned knees to a popcorn kernel stuck in an ear passage to the ingestion of Kaz vaporizer inhalant and the subsequent stomach pumping. I have pulled calves, lambs and foals and stood by the vet at a C-Section of a struggling cow. God made women tough old birds, but I have to say, even birds squawk once in awhile.


Today, I took time off from all things Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ and traveled to our doctor’s office, 45 minutes away, to be there by 8 am. Since I was simply going to make a monthly donation of some of my precious and hard earned blood for lab work, I didn’t eat breakfast, but drank water by the gallons. I have tiny, tiny, deep, deep veins and so giving blood means a preparation of prayer, jumping jacks, running around the building, walking up three flights of stairs and drinking water until it trickles out of my ears like a mountain spring. (Of course, I have every available bathroom along the route to the doctor mapped out and timed.) And when I arrive at the office, I ask to have my arm wrapped with a hot pack while I wait, which immediately gives whatever nurse is doing the sticking that day, a look of terror and the sudden recognition of, “Oh no. It’s her!”

Such was the case today, and when the nurse finally called me back, trying to embrace the peace of the Lord, I skipped lightly to the Dracula seat, plopped down, grinned and said, “Hi! How are you?” The nurse did not respond or smile but, without a word, choked off the circulation in my arm with a rubber band. She finally said, “You’re here for a CBC, right?” Uh. No. I wasn’t there for a CBC – just thyroid. No, the nurse was sure I was there for a CBC. But I wasn’t, I assured her. “Are you Mary so-and-so?” “No. I’m not Mary so-and-so.” “Well, I need Mary so-and-so.” So I went back into the waiting room and told Mary-so-and-so that she was next in line for torture, not me. Mary So-And-So bounced in and bounced out in what seemed like 10 seconds. She waved me in as the next victim with a smile and a wave and all I could think was that it wasn’t fair.


Back in the same chair and cinched with the same rubber band while gripping a green ball shaped like a heart – (I suppose that’s to give the patient the impression of squeezing his own green heart to make the blood come out faster?) – I endured the smacking, tapping and poking on my arm that I knew would result in the question, “Is your other arm any better?” To which I always answer, “No” at which point the rubber band is removed and placed on the other arm, anyway. With another smack, tap and poke comes the comment, “You’re right. This one isn’t any better.”





The nurse felt of the inside of my arm and said, “Is your other arm any better?” I told her, “No”. She took off the band and transferred it to my other arm and poked around and sighed, “You’re right.” But then, worst of all fears, she stated, “But we’re going to try it anyway.” I froze. I looked away as she put the needle in and was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t hurt. She was just fooling with me, though. She hadn’t hit anything, but was just going to find it once the needle was in. I gritted my teeth and squished my eyes closed. She mumbled something about just getting drip by drip. All of a sudden, a pain shot up and down my arm that I can only assume was caused by a blow torch that the nurse had hidden under her blouse ready for use the minute I turned my head. I let out a loud yelp and then “Oh! Oh! Oh!” to which she cried, “What? What? What?” She frantically gulped, “This has never happened to me before! I’m trying to get the needle out!” and of course, I’m gulping too – big gulps of air to keep from passing out.





Shaking from head to toe, from lack of food and what I considered at the time to be excessive stress, I tried very hard to look calm, composed and totally oblivious to the embarrassing squeals that I knew had escaped my lips. I knew this because the waiting room, which had been full, had suddenly cleared. Evidently, everyone had decided they really didn’t need lab tests after all. I feel bad about that, but I think after me, the nurse needed a day off anyway.


And so, I wobbled – no – staggered to my car, crawled in and lay my head on the steering wheel, arm still pounding. It was tightly wrapped with gauze and tape but that did not hide the large blue bruise that was forming, giving me the appearance of a drug addict. I made the 45 minute drive home – after a stop at McDonald’s – yes, McDonald’s – don’t say a word.





Actually, I am most thankful to the Lord that the worst of my problems are veins the diameter of vermicelli. There are so many people who suffer daily from all manner of infirmities and pain, of whom we need to be aware and for whom we need to be praying, so it is with gratefulness that I can laugh in fun at my silly trial. God has been gracious. However, I will say that I have made a decision as a result of this ordeal. From now on, I am subscribing to the medieval method of leeches for extracting blood. Just stick those suckers on me and it’s up to the professionals to figure out how to get my blood out of them!!