Worst Blood Draw Ever

Again this year I signed up with Jim Sowder's "Let's Go" training group. It's a group that trains for the mini marathon in Indy. It's a good deal. For less than $50 you get a T-shirt, entry into 3 local races (5, 10, 15K), access to local gyms, body fat measurements, lots of good companionship, and a blood test, which is worth about $150.

Saturday morning was the day for the body fat measurements and the blood test. Several of us ran a quick 5 miles at 8 a.m. and then made our way over to Johnathan's Gym for all the fun. Several of us gathered back at the "blood table" waiting for our name to be called. A local ob/gyn doctor has joined our group, and as he came back to where we were waiting he saw the line. He asked the nurse, "Do you want me to help you draw blood?"

She, with a slight hesitation, said, "Sure... I guess." This the first warning sign that was missed. The second missed warning sign was the good doc's first draw. It was young lady. She sat at the table for a long time. A very long time. It became noticable. Very noticable. "Tiny veins," were the words of explanation. "Oh," we all said with laughter, followed by boasts of, "My veins are good, easy to find."

The third missed warning sign was the next victim, I mean, participant. This draw also took a long time. A very long time. Again, "tiny veins," were the words of explanation. "Oh," we all said with laughter, followed by boasts of, "My veins are good, easy to find."

The good doc finished and looked at the next paper. He looked around and called my name. I don't like getting my blood drawn. I have become very white and clammy before; once, a long time ago, I passed out. SO, as a move of distraction, I started talking to the good doc. "Bet it's been a long time since you drew blood." "Yeah, probably more than 20 years," he said with a tone of, "But it's no big deal." I said, "I bet you haven't drawn blood since you were in med school." "Yeah, that's probably right." He laughed.

I reminded him that he delivered my fourth child while I played on my laptop. He didn't seem to remember that fine August evening more than 14 years ago. Not sure why? Anyway, he took the little rubber strap and put it around my bicep; he tightened it really tight. "Make a fist." "Wow, that is a beautiful vein!" "Thanks," I said as I blushed.

"Be a little sting," he said as he inserted the needle. I have a high tolerance for pain. This was no "little sting." He kept twisting and turning, poking and prodding. His face had expressions of concern. This went on for about 10 minutes. He started apologizing. "You're going to have a pretty big bruise there." He keeps twisting and turning the needle. Finally he pulls it out and applies a lot of pressure to the spot where the needle was. He kept apologizing as he said, "Here, put a lot of pressure on this," while he withdrew his thumb. I put my thumb on the spot, but I didn't look. "More pressure," he said. Then he says, "You call me at home if that gets looking really bad." What??

Then he announced, "Well, I need to try the other arm; didn't get enough for a sample." He looked at my white face and felt my clammy skin, "Are you ok?" I lied. "Yeah, I'm fine." He asked me to put my other arm on the table. I then announced, "You know, I think I'll take a break and go get my body fat measured. I think they are waiting on me," lying again.

I got up as my friends looked on with concern. "You alright?" "Yeah, I am fine," lying the third time. I walked around a little while and stuck my head out the door into the 10 degree weather. Felt better. I went back to the blood table and carefully waited for the nurse to finish the person she was with. I interrupted her before she could call the next name, "Will you do me really quick." Having observed what had happened with the doc she quickly accommodated me. I then got the doc's attention and said, "I hope you don't mind but I am getting a second opinion." We all chuckled. The nurse had a sample of my blood in less than a minute.

The only thing that kept me from passing out was my pride and the knowledge that if had passed out I would have heard about it on training runs for a long, long time.

I wonder if the good doc, who by the way is a very very nice guy, would have been more comfortable if I had been on a table with my feet in stirrups?