A retrospective: as the winter slooowly winds to a close here in Madison, here’s a tale I just resurrected from the Draft box. It hails from the steamy days of last summer….
I had my yearly physical the other day. It went well, considering I was pretty shy on sleep. I really liked my original doctor, but she went and got herself pregnant and is out on maternity leave, so I got switched to a new PCP. She’s very thorough and great about giving you the justification for all the odd tests she has to run. She does have an unsettling verbal tick, though, wherein she adds “type thing” to the end of every other sentence. “It looks to be a mole type thing… You want to make sure you wear your helmet type thing… I just want to listen to your heart type thing….” No, you want to listen to my HEART! Not some uncertain organ in its vicinity! I’m a gal who likes a healthy dose of ambiguity – but not when its about literal doses or my literal health. Anyway, once you get past that, she’s lovely and it was a good visit.
Well, we’re wrapping things up, and she decides that since I haven’t had my blood drawn in a while, we should run a standard test (type thing) to keep my records up to date. And thus she writes up my after-visit summary, thanks me for coming in, and sends me downstairs to the professional vampires.
Here’s where things took a turn for the dangerously perky. Now, when MOST people are sleep deprived, they experience a sharp downturn in the sunniness of their disposition. Me, on the other hand, before I slip into zombification, I ride a wave of excessive cheer. And as I sat in the lobby, waiting to be called in to see the nurse who would draw my blood, I felt the peppy coming on – Ooo, look at the fish in the aquarium! Aren’t those big orange theft-deterrent stickers on the magazines just charmingly awkward! Aaawe, cute baby!! So it begins.
Then a friendly looking woman in a lab coat called my name and I bounced out of my seat and started making chit chat. Kind woman, she was very amenable to my exuberantly congenial demeanor and merrily gabbed with me all the way to the examining room and on and on while she was finding my vein. We talked about the heat, the generally perpetual state of being busy – I noted that her earrings matched a painting on the wall (the coordination in some of these new fangled medical institutions, I tell ya!). It was very friendly. She took my blood without incident, handed me a cotton swab to stop the bleeding, and while I was applying pressure asked me what kind of band-aid I wanted. We agreed that the blue Snoopy ones were far superior to either the red or the plain old skin-tone band-aids, so she fetched one of those and popped it on my puncture wound.
And then she said, “Good job! All done!” and held out her hand.
So naturally, I high-fived her.
It was just instinct. She’d just praised our mutual effort, and seemed to be offering her palm in camaraderie – “Heck YEAH, we just took your blood!”
Of course, in reality she was just asking for my cotton swab, which I was still holding, so she could dispose of it for me.
Luckily, she was heartily amused and laughed along with me. We parted friends, and I am happy to say that I probably made her day – or at least gave her a miniature story to tell over coffee break later on.
And heck YEAH, we totally took my blood!!