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October 5, 2021 - You Don't Wanna See Ginger Snap!

Doing a reset. Ed started his second chemo process yesterday, and all went well. His new "friends" at the center were happy to see him after his six-week hiatus. Walking in on his own two feet without the wheels was good to see, and his usual jovial self with the sarcasm and self-deprecating humor said "Mr. Ed is back!" The next "play date" with his friends at the chemo "park" is October 25. I'll send him with his lunch and instruct him to "play nice".


While Ed was enjoying his chemo treatment with friends, I went to the hospital for the required pre-admit procedures for my surgery on the 11th. It was as close to a traumatic experience as I've had since maybe the time I went to a funeral and when they opened the vault to put the casket in, huge roaches came flying out (another story, another day). 


 I have never had any issues with the integrity of my veins when drawing blood, but for some reason the little twit trying to draw the blood couldn't find a vein, then decided she needed a smaller needle, then still could not hit the vein, then withdrew the needle to have the blood spurt out like a West Texas oil gusher! So, she says in a sweet beauty pageant voice, "Mrs. LeCompte, let me try the veins in the inside of your wrist." I'm thinking, "you mean the one that I'm about to slit if you keep this circus going?" She tries the new, big vein on the inside of my right wrist...and POW! It blows! By this time, I'm in tears, feeling as faint as I did when Dr. Puckett pierced my ears (remember, Lori?).  She decides to send me down the hall to the lab (where the professionals live! 


New nurse, new chair, new needle, new problems. On goes the one-inch stretchy tourniquet (blue this time), and the tap-tap-tap of my left arm inside the elbow. I'm squeezing my eyes shut, shaking my foot (usual response to needles), and praying, "Please dear Lord, let her be successful the first time. Furnish her with the skill the others lacked, and let Your radiance shine on the hand doing the probing. Amen."


Her colleague came scampering through the door. From her demeanor, I assumed she was a supervisor. She nonchalantly points to a spot right above the site being assaulted, and instructs the medical professional to change the target location. So, we are now hitting a new vein with a new needle, and finally the blood begins to flow, filling five small vials. She had the audacity to ask me to hold each vial in my right hand. Now, I am anxious and paranoid that I may drop one! Add that fantasy to the pain - too much multi-tasking for me at that moment, but I held fast to those little vials with a death grip.


A fait accompli, the gloating nurse says, "Mrs. LeCompte, you're good to go," followed by, "Have a great rest of your day." I was too weak to punch her out, and too polite to curse her out, so I shuffled out to the parking lot and into the car to proceed with my "great rest of the day".

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