Wiggling my Feet

I went for my “failed IVF” blood work on Tuesday.  When I went in, there was a lady sitting in the lab, with her feet up and a water bottle in her lap.  As they were checking me in, she ate a sugar pill (which looked like a sweet tart).  I thought to myself, “Man, I’m so glad that I don’t get faint during bloodwork anymore.  That sucks.”

Ha.  Oh, the irony.

As she was leaving, the lab tech reached up on to the shelf and pulled down about 400,567,898 vials.  Okay, so it was really 15ish.  It was so many she had to USE TWO HANDS.  TWO. HANDS.  As soon as I saw that, I panicked.  I asked if that was for someone else.  The tech laughed and said, “no, it’s all for you.  It’s not that bad.”   She then nodded towards the lady gathering her bags and said, she just finished up with the same thing.

This statement did not decrease my anxiety.

I “jokingly” (dead seriously) asked if I could do half that day and come back for the other half later.   I then reminded her that I’d had like 7 vials of blood taken not even 3 months ago and wondered if some of those tests were the same.

The tech just kept on preparing and cajoling me, telling me it’d all be okay.  The other tech, smelling my fear, turned on the radio and stationed herself nearby.

Realizing there was no way to avoid my unwitting blood donation, I resigned myself to the upcoming torture and had the tech help me lay back.  I warned them that I had actually fainted during blood work before (as part of medical trial, I had to have blood taken ever 60 minutes.  In the second part of the trial, they installed a port so that I wouldn’t almost faint every 60 minutes).

It all started out okay.  Then came the vasovagal response.  Since I’ve taught others the warning signs, I knew what was happening. I tried the deep, steady breaths, focusing on the ceiling, moving the hand that wasn’t attached to the arm attached to the vampire needle.

Nothing worked.  The other lab tech, not the one taking my blood, noticed my lack of color, my panting, and the sweat pouring off of my forehead.

Out came the cold washcloth and her looking right in my eyes (trying to get me to focus my eyes) saying “Don’t close your eyes. Wiggle your feet, Melissa.  WIGGLE YOUR FEET.”  I’m guessing she was trying to get the blood to flow back to my heart instead of to my feet, or she was just trying to distract me from the needle in my arm so I woudn’t faint.

Anyway, it all turned out fine.  I made it through, drank some cold water, ate a piece of candy donated by the next victim, and go back at the end of October for results.

I don’t even know what they were testing me for.  It better be worth it.  I don’t know if that means I want everything to negative or if I want them to find out what the problem is.  Either way, I hope I don’t have to do that again anytime soon.