Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater
Seriously, don't read on if you hate needles.
I went into the doctor's office this morning so they could check on my cholesterol level -- they discovered it was 251 a month ago! I've been trying a lovely pill-a-day since then, to see if it would help. I also had this obnoxious "hives" thing happening, which I wanted to run past the doctor.
So, I sat down and chatted with the doctor for a bit. In particular, she noticed the hives (which have been getting worse on a day-by-day basis), and her eyes got kind of wide when I told her that was pretty much a 24/7 occurrence. She jumped up and came back with a syringe full of something for the swelling. After a follow-up question about side effects on my part ("none, really, your arm will probably be sore..."), she lined up and plunged the needle into my shoulder. "Which arm do you want to be sore?" Great. Actually, it was amazingly painless, but I really don't enjoy being jabbed with needles.
That was all fine, and the theory is that that shot will keep me hive-free by reducing my tendency to inflammation. Here's hoping the reality lives up to the theory; I'd greatly enjoy being less itchy. Really, is there any time you wouldn't enjoy being less itchy? (And who doesn't want to hear about somebody else's hives! I mean, come on!)
So, on to the best part.
The phlebotomist came in after a bit of wait. She beckoned me out, and we went back to her little station, where I sat down in her chair. The little arm support was folded down in front of me, and I mentally prepared myself. I'm not real fond of having my blood drawn, and this time was no exception.
First, a tiny bit of background. I remembered last night that I was going in for this cholesterol check in the morning, but I couldn't remember what the fasting period was. Was it 12 hours? That sounded about right. Due to schedule craziness, I had lunch at 2:30 or so, and wasn't able to get into a dinner scenario until 9:00 that night -- crap! 9 am doctor's appointment! 12 hours! So, I decided to skip dinner, I mean, better safe than sorry. I'd hate to screw up the blood draw and have to do it again.
So, on with our story. The phlebotomist set me up, wrapped the little druggie tubing around my upper arm, and located a juicy vein. *pop*! went the needle, and she was drawing blood. Of course, I didn't see any of this, since I look away, on the theory that my imagination is not going to be as vivid as the real thing. Huh huh. Riiiight. It was pretty painless, but the knowledge that there's a hair-thin sliver of metal inside a vein, supping on my life fluid has never been pleasing to me.
She pulled out the needle and pressed some cotton over the wound, the whole thing finished in about 30 seconds. Unfortunately, in that time, my world had gotten weird. I looked over at her, a pattern of cracked safety glass superimposed over my vision. I don't know how to describe what was happening to my hearing, but in a TV show, they'd simulate the effect by adding a lot of reverb and making it sound really distant and hollow. I vaguely recall a lot of rushing-blood sounds. My head felt light, and I was suddenly sweating much more than the situation warranted.
"Do you want some water?" she asked. "I can't really see," I responded, wittily. "Ok, well that's perfectly normal, some people just don't like having their blood drawn." The words seemed to be coming from far away, and I was having a hard time correlating the sound I was hearing with what limited information I could gather from my eyes. I wondered if I was going to pass out.
Looking back on it, I can see they treated me with a fair amount of concern as they asked if I wanted to lie down. I think I responded coherently, but I for all I know, I might have just dribbled and said "floobey da goo-ga" -- they would have understood that to mean "yes" as much as if I'd said, "why yes, that sounds like an excellent idea."
The short, crew-cut nurse and the phlebotomist guided me carefully back about 3 feet to a couch, and I laid down with my feet up on the arm. Things got a little bit better, but I still felt like I was looking through a translucent desert floor, and everything was tingling. I was freezing cold and really warm at the same time. The nurse explained how he used to be a medic in the military, and he would have to lay soldiers down when they fainted in formation, and put their gear under their legs -- s'what you get for standing perfectly still with your knees locked, I guess. "This is a little trick I learned in the military," he said. At that moment, I would have believed he'd learned it at the Jedi academy under the tutelage of Chewbacacca. "Aaarggggh! Yuuuur rruuuuugh!" I wanted to respond. My head hurt just thinking about trying to make Wookie noises.
As I slowly came back to my senses, I sipped some water and ate a few of the crackers they'd given me ("Oh, 19 hours of fasting? That's above and beyond the call of duty, aaand your blood sugar is probably just a little bit low..."). I looked around, and realized I was lying on a couch in the kids' room: there was a Shrek II DVD sitting there, and some toys, and a silent TV staring back at me.
I was still shaking a bit, and sweating, but my hand was freezing from the cold-pack they'd handed me at some point. I was still clutching a tissue the doctor had given me after the shot, although I'd turned out to be "not much of a bleeder." Yay me!
I gradually felt more and more like a human and less like a kaleidoscopic acid-toy. I had a moment when I thought I was going to break my nearly 20-year no-barfing streak, but it passed. Still, it's amazing what you can fight through to get to a toilet when it feels like your insides would really rather be outside.
Finally, everything was about back to normal, although I still felt weak and lightheaded. I asked the phlebotomist, and she said that whole episode I'd just had usually happens from very low blood pressure -- the veins dilate, you've got less blood than you did a second ago, and everything goes downhill very quickly. Including, of course, all the blood which no longer has enough pressure behind it to fight gravity all the way up to your brain. Whoops.
So, let this be a lesson to you. 8 hours is an acceptable amount of fasting. 10 hours is ideal. 12 hours is overkill. 19 hours is heroic to the point of idiocy. Plus, I'm a little girl when it comes to needles, apparently.
Posted at 22:16 permanent link category: /misc
Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater