Veins Collapsed, Puncture Wound, and Bruised Arm are good too.
I also thought about adding Popped IV too, but that was just stretching it. I cannot in good conscience take complete credit for the name Rolling Veins, that was my sister’s idea. Did you think I was going to give credit to Rolling Stones? Pff… you were wrong. My sister is kind of a medical novelty in the fact that every time (and I mean EVERY time) she goes to the doctor she hears at least once, “I’ve never seen this before!” Yeah, that really builds your confidence in the medical professionals. They could really write a whole medical journal on her strange medical behaviors. Besides the fact that we have the same parents and lived in the same house together for 13 years, we have something else in common, our veins. It seems that both of our veins stopped growing about five years before the rest of us did. And they also move. Hence the rolling veins. I cannot tell you how many times I have gotten my blood drawn and the phlebotomist (yeah, I have to look up how to spell that) missed my vein, because my vein was just feeling so trapped and just need a change of scenery. So, it went on a temporary vacation. Veins do not use airplanes or even trains. (vein train… that’s funny!) They are very independent and roll where ever they go.
Anyways, why all this background info? Because these medical mysteries came into play this week, once again. I had recently gone to get a basic physical, because I will be spending the next 18 months in a place that uses squat toilets, do you really think I’m gonna want to go to the doctor over there? No. So a basic check up included some blood work. Yeah, as expected they missed on the first arm and had to call in someone else in to find a vein. Then the vein they finally did find collapsed. Really? Every time! Add two more nasty bruises to my battered arm. And a scar! What? Yeah, they totally cut me with one of the needles and I have a nice little scar on the inside of my arm. That’s new. So the bruise barely fades into this yellow color and my mom tells me I have an appointment with some specialist about my swallowing problem. Apparently I never learned how to swallow correctly. Another hole in my childhood education.
They have to knock you out and then stick this camera thing down your throat to see if they can find the problem. So, I’m lying on the hospital bed thinking how hungry I am (I had not eaten in over 14 hours. Apparently they do not want you throwing up on them, I don’t know why) when the nurse comes in with the IV. Oh, yeah another needle! You mean you can’t find a big enough vein? Shocker! Oh, you’re gonna try that one? Yeah, that didn’t feel right. So I know that getting a IV is not suppose to be pain free, but that one killed! And then proceeded to bleed. Now, maybe I am mistaken but I distinctly remember something about IV putting fluid into your body, not taking them out. After some ‘rearranging’ as they say or ‘digging’ as I put it, they declared the IV to be place. I am then wheeled into the procedure room. And then! Guess what! The IV popped, which means stopped working. My vein had once again held a revolution and in protest stopped producing blood. So now I have three nurses working on me to try and get in another IV. Did you get that? Three. Count them… one, two, three. How many nurses does it take to find my vein? Three, plus one doctor, and 15 minutes. The doctor, trying to make a joke, stated, “Where did all your veins go?” I think that is a question for you doctor, not me. That was my last thought, because the next thing I know, I am waking up back in the recovery room and my mom is talking to me. I guess I woke up in a better mood then I went under in, because I woke up chuckling to myself. My mom then explained that my muscle connecting my esophagus and my stomach is smaller than normal. Which I then cracked the joke, “Like my veins?” Laugh, laugh, laugh! Yes, Danielle, your esophagus muscle stopped growing about the same time your veins did. I few minutes lapsed, I think, remember I am still under the influence, when I asked my mom what was wrong with me. I had apparently forgotten all about our early conversation. My mom told me the same information and guess what? I cracked the same joke! I am so funny! And so uninhibited. Everything that popped into my head popped out my mouth. I wondered, yes out loud, if this is what a couple of beers felt like. Many of you by now are thinking, “Isn’t that they way she always acts?” You would all be amazed at the number of things I filter. Amazed.
When I got home I took off the bandage and found six different puncture wounds and a swollen and painful bruise. Purple, to match my faded yellow one. I looked like a druggy. Anyone that didn’t know me would think I shot up every day. Don’t worry, I don’t need to do drugs, I can just go to the doctor for that.
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