All Needles are Not Created Equal
The players: Me, Phlebotomist (herein referred to as “Moron”), and a Supervisor
The Time: 9:14am
As part of my recent fertility consultation, I was instructed to have a blood test to determine if I carried the gene for Cystic Fibrosis. Since I am due for my regular A1c draw, I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone (I hate that expression – who actually kills a bird with a stone?).
I walked into the lab, signed in, and sat down. I always dread having blood drawn because I know that the inevitable battle will begin.
<digression> Since my very first blood draw (that I can remember), I’d pass out. Faint. Hit-the-deck. A few years ago, I had a very nice phlebotomist tell me that I have extremely small veins and that when having my blood drawn, I should always request a butterfly. From that moment on, I never passed out again (as long as a butterfly is used). I know some of you will think that this is a psychological problem, but I can prove that it’s not.
Once, I requested a butterfly, and the phlebotomist agreed to use it. Since I never watch the actual blood draw, I assumed that the prick I felt was the agreed-upon butterfly. After a few seconds, I started to get that feeling. The one where you see little black dots, begin sweating, and feeling very, very tired. The next thing I knew, I was waking up on the floor. She helped me back into the chair. I apologized for fainting and said how strange it was because I NEVER faint when a butterfly is used. She shrugged and turned away.
That’s when I saw it. She didn’t use a butterfly. When I asked her about it, she claimed to have “forgotten” that I requested one. Bitch. </digression>
Anyway, back to today.
After 15 minutes, my name was finally called. I handed moron the lab slips and my insurance card. She instructed me to have a seat in Room 2 across the hall. I did. She came into the room and began entering all of the required information into her computer. I waited. Finally, she spoke:
Moron: Oh, I see it was your birthday. Happy belated birthday.
Me: Thanks! (thinking this draw is going to be cake! She’s actually nice)
Me: As you can see, I’ve got two different lab slips from two different doctors. Is it possible to send the results of my A1c to both doctors?
Moron: (grabbing a clipboard with a release form) Sure. You just have to sign this release, and we can send it to anyone.
Me: Great, thanks. I also have one more request. When you draw my blood, can you please use a butterfly? Otherwise, I’ll pass out.
Moron: (looking at me like *I’m* a moron) I’ll need to look at your arm first because we don’t use butterflies on everyone. What’s the big deal, anyway? A needle is a needle.
Me: Look, I’m not afraid of needles. I’m a type 1 diabetic, so I’m pretty used to needles. My issue is that my veins are really small, and with the bigger needle, the blood comes out too fast and causes my blood pressure to drop until I pass out. Every time I’ve had my blood drawn here, they’ve used a butterfly.
Moron: Well, I’ll have to look at your arms first. (indicating that she wasn’t going to use a butterfly unless hell froze over first)
Me: (really pissed off) Fine, but don’t be surprised when I pass out.
Moron spent the next 35 minutes trying to get the paperwork straightened out. I repeated my original instructions that Dr. T. also gets a copy of my A1c. Moron set up the paperwork to give Dr. S. the results of the CF screen. Hence, the moniker, moron.
Finally, she wraps the rubber band around my arm and tells me to make a fist. She pokes my veins to find her target. Knowing what’s coming, I look away. I felt the needle prick, and, at first, I felt ok. I thought that maybe she’d listened to me and used a butterfly. But, I started to feel that all-too-familiar sensation. The last thing I heard was her clicking off the first vial and grabbing another.
I came to on the floor. Moron had called for backup. They helped me back into the chair, gave me some juice, and waited. After 10 minutes, Moron came back into the room with Supervisor.
Supervisor: (taking one look at my arm) Her veins are tiny. You should have used a butterfly on her.
Me: I asked for a butterfly, but she refused.
Supervisor: I’ll take it from here. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to get both vials before you passed out, so I’m going to have to prick you again.
Me: You can prick me all day as long as you use a butterfly. I wasn’t being a baby – this is just how it is.
Supervisor: (after the blood draw was done) You’re all set. You can wait here for a few minutes if you need to.
Me: (having already spent over an hour in the lab) I’m fine. I really need to get to work. I would appreciate it if you’d have a talk with moron about listening to patients. This entire scenario could have been avoided if she’d just listened to me.
Supervisor: I intend to. We don’t like it when you faint any more than you do.
Me: Thanks.





Last Friday, I wrote a quick
Now that I’m
First, let me tell you how much I love your products. I’m a big geek, who actually gets excited at the prospect of new diabetes technology. When I get a new meter, it’s like my birthday. CGM arrival day is like Christmas. And, well, new pump day? That only happens once every four years, so I can’t even compare it to any other day. I don’t know what it is about new tech gadgets that gets me so excited. It’s just all so shiny and new and wonderful.
Since it’s a day that ends in “y,” I’ve got the urge to rant about something. 