I arrived at the hospital to get my pre-op blood work done an hour and a half later than I intended. I take a number and realize there is only one person ahead of me.
Phew! I think as I grab a magazine and sit on a waiting room seat which is made of fabric and covered with many layers of stains. This kinda creeps me out. I convince myself it's probably mostly spilled coffee and dripping baby bottles and sippy cups, not the possible fluids I have shoved to the back of my mind: blood and leaking colostomy bags and soggy Depends and other manner of other conditions people may be suffering from and needing to have lab work done at the hospital.
I am thankful my wait is very short before I get called in. One of the two nurses confirms my good timing when she realizes there is no one waiting after me and comments, "Wow, I can't believe we've made it through the entire waiting room this morning." I quietly thank God for my running late and arriving later than I had planned so my wait in those disgusting chairs was minimal.
After having no success in either arm finding a vein, I suggest they use a baby butterfly syringe on my hand. "I am not a good bleeder. " I unwittingly say.
She gets the required blood and puts my hospital bracelets on me to indicate my A-positive blood type and instructs me to keep them clean and dry for four days until my scheduled surgery date.
The entire blood giving process goes much quicker than I anticipated so I decide to stop in at work on my way home to make sure they still remember me and to let them know i am finally booked. I am also wondering if Nic has given birth yet. She's due this week I think.
I get out to my car and am just starting it when there is a knock at my driver's side window. I roll it down.
"Scuse me. Are you going straight home?"
I don't answer but I'm sure the quizzical look on my face clearly said, "Huh?"
"Well it's just that I think you probably don't realize you are bleeding all over the place."
I thank her profusely through my utter humiliation for letting me know while I silently chant, "Five more days. Five more days. I can make it. I can make it."
And I head directly home and try not to think about the next person who has to come along and convince themselves that the disgusting chair they are sitting in has been stained with a dripping baby bottle.
I love words. I love to write them. I love to know their meanings. I love to know their origins. But speaking them - not so much. You can&...
My dad always loved gardening and puttering with plants. But was never a real horticulturist - he just sort of did stuff and waited to se...
We'd never been on a tropical vacation before. I've always secretly blamed this on my husband who has always preferred to drive wh...
One of the seasonal options with Art Class with a Wine Glass I love my job. I really do. I am an art facilitator. At least that is the ...