My, How Things
Change.
A good stick is real hard to come by. Wow. That
sure doesn’t mean the same thing as it did a few years ago. No.
Scratch that. It doesn’t even
mean the same thing it meant in April. I
am always amazed at how experience and perspective change us. The things that were once important sometimes
give way to the things we never thought would be important. For example, a good stick. There was a time in my life that only had one
connotation. And I couldn’t stop
thinking about it. Then, three weeks
ago, “a good stick” took on a whole new meaning. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since
then…
A Good Stick.
It always confuses people that I wound up working in health
care. There are a lot of reasons. I have always avoided the doctor. I don’t particularly care for things I don’t
understand (i.e. illness and death). I
have a very low tolerance for bullshit. But,
mostly, because I don’t do needles.
Ever. EVER. And blood.
I don’t do that either. So, maybe
medicine isn’t the place for me…Oh, but wait!
I found a job in medical records.
It was unexpected, but it kind of made sense. I could work autonomously, in an organized
fashion, while making visible progress in my work. YES!!
It was unexpected, but it turned out to be a really good fit. Until they told me that the job now requires
needles. And Blood.
I’m out.
“I’m Not Ready to Go.”
That’s what I told Doc.
“I’m not ready to go.” And he
said, “You may not be ready to go, but you need to be ready for invasive procedures. It’s going to be part of your job.” Well…goddamnit…That conversation happened
this morning. This afternoon, as I stood
in Urgent Care, wearing a pair of blue non-latex gloves and very flattering
protective eye wear, holding a NEEDLE at a 90 degree angle to a human arm, I
confirmed my position…I am not ready to go.
OMG!!! O.M.G!!!!! OH
MY GOD!!! I was not ready to go, but I went.
I stuck a man in the arm. With a
1 inch, 23 gauge NEEDLE!!!. And he didn’t
die. He didn’t cry. He didn’t lose consciousness. He didn’t EVEN bleed! What?
(Please let the record indicate that I almost cried. And I almost lost consciousness. And. for a
brief moment, I thought I might die.)
But we both made it through. By
the grace of God.
Yes. This Had to Have Been Divine
Intervention.
While I was administering my first injection, Johnny walked
in. I don’t perform well under
pressure. But my pride (and the VERY
REAL prospect of losing my job), demanded that I act cool. So, I finished the injection in textbook
form. Then Johnny said: “Hey. Wanna draw my blood?” No.
No! NO!! Uh…NOOOOOOO!!!!. ßThat
was my inner monologue. What I actually
said was “Sure.” NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! But it happened anyway. Then, I got a good stick. I drew blood.
I stuck a needle in a human arm and blood came out. And, again, nobody died. Nobody needed therapy. Ok. I
did. But those other guys didn’t.
Needles and Blood and
Needles????
This is my achievement, right? You probably think I’m
trying to seek validation for overcoming my fears. And, admittedly, I am kind of a bad ass. This really isn’t about me, though. This is about the people who have allowed me
the confidence and the perspective to do the impossible. This is about the doctor who laid down a
dismal reality. This is about the colleague
who has spent 5 of the last 20 hours working with me to become competent in
this new reality. It’s about the friend
with good veins who didn’t even hesitate to let me make him bleed. It’s about the COUNTLESS people who walk into
my office and say: “Let’s do this…” or “Do you have a minute?” or “Come to the classroom and study with us.”
Or “I will do whatever it takes to help you.”
COUNTLESS PEOPLE. Offering their
support, their time, their bodies, and their knowledge. These are the people who have made this experience not
about the needles and the blood, but about love, commitment, dedication and
perspective. Point and case: it wasn’t so very
long ago that I wanted a good stick from Johnny. And today, I got one. That’s inner peas.
Hooray for good sticks!
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