It's not me, it's you.

It's that time again, my quarterly blood letting and screening for cancer markers. Because I've had lymph nodes removed from both armpits and I'm at risk for lymphedema, I can't give blood the conventional way - instead I have to have it drawn from my hand. In truth, I'm really supposed to have it drawn from my feet, but that prospect seems even worse, so I'll take my chances with my hand, though it's quite painful to say the least. With a skilled phlebotomist, it can be less painful, but the problem is, I haven't found a skilled one anywhere in the year I've been having to deal with this challenge.

I'm so tired of the pokes and prods and multiple failed attempts to get a 'good' vein, and what's more, I'm tired of listening to the technician actually try to blame me! "Your blood clots really quickly, the needle must be clogged." "Did you not drink enough fluids today?" "You need to hold as still as possible!" That last one is next to impossible - clenching my fist as a rubber band cuts off all remaining feeling in my arm, all the while fighting back tears and a general feeling that I'm about to pass out.

I liken it to going to the dentist and as the hygienist is stabbing your gums and making them bleed, she says "Wow, your gums are really bleeding, are you not flossing?" Hmph!

The predictably painful ritual of having my blood drawn may seem like a trivial complaint compared to the events of the past year, but I find that it's a bit like adding insult to injury....or better put, adding insult AND injury to injury.

Today, I asked the gal if she was good at drawing blood from the hand and she replied "We'll see!" She wasn't.

Really...it's you, not me, phlebotomist!!

I meet with my oncologist next week for the results...I'll keep you poked...er, uh, I mean posted.

xo

Lisa