Real Life Imitating Fiction
The day after Christmas my employer sent me out of town, three days before my date for surgery to take care of a couple pesky hernias. The pair of jokers assigned to me for a crew promised to make the trip eventful.
A couple hours into the day I received a phone call to have my blood drawn for the upcoming surgery. "No problem," I was informed. "There is a blood drawing clinic right around the corner."
One of my bosses, on the jobsite to help lay-out the house, sent me on my way as I promised that it would be quick and easy. After all, the clinic was right around the corner.
The clinic was in fact right around the corner, but quit drawing blood for the diagnostics corporation I needed three months ago.
"No problem," they declared. "There is a facility that draws blood for your needs a few minutes away."
Half an hour later, or maybe a little more, a time period which consisted of a call to my wife to look up directions to the clinic on the internet, I drove by the facility three times before recognizing the run-down building to be what I needed. The whino on the lawn covered up the address with his shopping cart.
I waited the elevator ride up to the second floor, curious what the rotting smell was, and entered the suite I needed, only to have my blood drawn by a fidgety student.
"Do you mind if a student draws your blood?" asked a nearby nurse.
"Of course not," I replied. "She has to learn sometime."
Apparently, her education up that point had been minimal.
She stuck me, moved the needed around a few times searching for blood, and then dug it in deeper as she applied the tube to it. I cringed, but held my composure.
A little blood dribbled into the tube, and then stopped.
"I think it fell out," she suddenly said.
Fell out? How does a needle fall out of a vein?
The nurse steps up, but before she can rescue me, the student suddenly pushes the needle into my arm up to the plastic hilt.
My right leg rose up as if to goose step, pointing my toes toward the exit. My face contorted, scrunching in pain. I, however, being the nice guy that I am, forced a grin.
"Sorry," said the student, stomping her foot once as if ready to pout like a petulent child.
Still grinning, I said, "It's okay. As far as students go, you did fine."
I lied.
Finally, with the blood drawn, I grabbed my book and my sanity and rushed out of there, hoping to never step into that facility again.
Then, at the end of the day, after breathing dust and fumes while operating my digging machine, one of my co-workers declares, "I know the perfect place to stay."
This co-worker of mine is known to be a teller of tall tales, and a liar among the best of liars. He is difficult to trust, but gullible ol' me softly replied in my best sheep-headed-for-a-cliff way, "Okay."
After an hour of driving in ovals around the town, visiting colorfully graffitied neighborhoods, he finally declared in partial defeat, "I don't understand. There used to be plenty of hotels along this road."
"Perhaps they brought in big trucks and moved them all someplace else," I said sarcastically.
Without missing a beat, he replied, "Maybe."
The other co-worker sat in the back in silence, chuckling on occassion.
Finally, we found a hotel, and settled for the night after a dinner at a known-to-be-busy location that included an hour wait, a stroll through numerous shops of interest, and me boxing up some of my meal for the next day's lunch.
After a fitful night of listening to the loudest chorus of snoring that I have ever encountered, I finally fell asleep just after midnight, only to be awakened by pouring rain a couple hours later.
As we drove the wet streets later in the morning, two things became apparent to me. One, the job was surely going to be too wet to continue, and two, I had left my left-overs for lunch back in the hotel and we had already checked out and was down the road.
Turned out I was wrong about the wet jobsite. The ground acted like a sponge and soaked up all of the water.
We dug, finished, got on the road, and I drove the big-rig back for a little over three hours in post-holiday traffic.
And the thanks for my hard work? No jobs running for the next day. We all got the day off whether we wanted it or not.
Fine, I needed the time to see my pre-operation nurse anyhow. Remember, Friday I go under the knife.
And Friday is now today. Three and a half hours before launch, to be exact. I'm nervous about the surgery, and a big baby when it comes to doctors and other medical personnel. Student blood-drawers haven't exactly help me to conquer that fear.
It could be worse, however. I figure I could still be lost somewhere up north, driving around in circles searching for a hotel that was probably moved by a convoy of large trucks.
A couple hours into the day I received a phone call to have my blood drawn for the upcoming surgery. "No problem," I was informed. "There is a blood drawing clinic right around the corner."
One of my bosses, on the jobsite to help lay-out the house, sent me on my way as I promised that it would be quick and easy. After all, the clinic was right around the corner.
The clinic was in fact right around the corner, but quit drawing blood for the diagnostics corporation I needed three months ago.
"No problem," they declared. "There is a facility that draws blood for your needs a few minutes away."
Half an hour later, or maybe a little more, a time period which consisted of a call to my wife to look up directions to the clinic on the internet, I drove by the facility three times before recognizing the run-down building to be what I needed. The whino on the lawn covered up the address with his shopping cart.
I waited the elevator ride up to the second floor, curious what the rotting smell was, and entered the suite I needed, only to have my blood drawn by a fidgety student.
"Do you mind if a student draws your blood?" asked a nearby nurse.
"Of course not," I replied. "She has to learn sometime."
Apparently, her education up that point had been minimal.
She stuck me, moved the needed around a few times searching for blood, and then dug it in deeper as she applied the tube to it. I cringed, but held my composure.
A little blood dribbled into the tube, and then stopped.
"I think it fell out," she suddenly said.
Fell out? How does a needle fall out of a vein?
The nurse steps up, but before she can rescue me, the student suddenly pushes the needle into my arm up to the plastic hilt.
My right leg rose up as if to goose step, pointing my toes toward the exit. My face contorted, scrunching in pain. I, however, being the nice guy that I am, forced a grin.
"Sorry," said the student, stomping her foot once as if ready to pout like a petulent child.
Still grinning, I said, "It's okay. As far as students go, you did fine."
I lied.
Finally, with the blood drawn, I grabbed my book and my sanity and rushed out of there, hoping to never step into that facility again.
Then, at the end of the day, after breathing dust and fumes while operating my digging machine, one of my co-workers declares, "I know the perfect place to stay."
This co-worker of mine is known to be a teller of tall tales, and a liar among the best of liars. He is difficult to trust, but gullible ol' me softly replied in my best sheep-headed-for-a-cliff way, "Okay."
After an hour of driving in ovals around the town, visiting colorfully graffitied neighborhoods, he finally declared in partial defeat, "I don't understand. There used to be plenty of hotels along this road."
"Perhaps they brought in big trucks and moved them all someplace else," I said sarcastically.
Without missing a beat, he replied, "Maybe."
The other co-worker sat in the back in silence, chuckling on occassion.
Finally, we found a hotel, and settled for the night after a dinner at a known-to-be-busy location that included an hour wait, a stroll through numerous shops of interest, and me boxing up some of my meal for the next day's lunch.
After a fitful night of listening to the loudest chorus of snoring that I have ever encountered, I finally fell asleep just after midnight, only to be awakened by pouring rain a couple hours later.
As we drove the wet streets later in the morning, two things became apparent to me. One, the job was surely going to be too wet to continue, and two, I had left my left-overs for lunch back in the hotel and we had already checked out and was down the road.
Turned out I was wrong about the wet jobsite. The ground acted like a sponge and soaked up all of the water.
We dug, finished, got on the road, and I drove the big-rig back for a little over three hours in post-holiday traffic.
And the thanks for my hard work? No jobs running for the next day. We all got the day off whether we wanted it or not.
Fine, I needed the time to see my pre-operation nurse anyhow. Remember, Friday I go under the knife.
And Friday is now today. Three and a half hours before launch, to be exact. I'm nervous about the surgery, and a big baby when it comes to doctors and other medical personnel. Student blood-drawers haven't exactly help me to conquer that fear.
It could be worse, however. I figure I could still be lost somewhere up north, driving around in circles searching for a hotel that was probably moved by a convoy of large trucks.
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