I have the utmost respect for those in the medical sector. Doctors, nurses, lab techs, orderlies, I have big respect for anyone who has to deal with the public on a medical level because people are terrible and injured/sick people are worse. They are truly heroes. This blog is not a reflection of how I feel about the millions of men and women in the medical profession.
That said...this happened yesterday:
To understand why I broke down and laid a vulgarity laced rant on my poor husband after a simple blood draw, we have to go back a couple weeks to another blood draw (in the time of Covid.) The clinic where I get about 95% of all medical stuff done has two labs: the upstairs lab which is used for cancer patients and, in my case, patients who have blood issues. (I have a series iron problem, but that's another story.) This is a very professional lab, I'm usually in and out before my appointment time and the lab techs are lovely.
Then there's the downstairs lab. This lab is used for general blood panels like cholesterol, A1-C tests, that sort of thing. I've written about this lab before. The people who work in that lab are...disorganized, disinterested, and disconnected. They are, however, very good at hanging party decorations in their office.
So a couple weeks ago I went in to the upstairs lab for a routine check on my iron. Weirdly...I had to wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. What should have been a 5 minute in and out turned into more than half an hour in the waiting room, sitting alone, six feet from the check in desk.
When the guy finally came out and called my name, he seemed annoyed to see me. "Are YOU Sarah?" He asked, as if someone else had been posing as me and he'd gotten in trouble for drawing an iron panel from the wrong person. I answered and he said, "Where have you been?"
"Sitting in that chair, six feet from the receptionist."
"We've been looking everywhere for you!" he said in a very accusatory tone.
"I don't know...I've been right here. I didn't move."
He frowned at me..."We had people looking all over for you!"
I'm not sure how a lab loses a 250 pound woman with questionable mobility...but apparently they lost me, and apparently it was my fault.
And this was the GOOD lab.
Well, hey, it's the time of Covid. Weird stuff happens. So, okay.
When my results came back, I was informed that I now needed more iron infusions. But first, they wanted to do another blood draw right before each of the two infusions. Which brings us to yesterday...the first of the blood draws.
When I set up the appointments, two blood draws, two infusions, I was told that my first draw would be at the downstairs lab and I had no specific time...I could just walk in. Two which I said..."ARE YOU SURE?"
"Yes," was the nurse's response.
"The downstairs lab? For a draw for Dr. S? Because I've never had blood drawn in the downstairs lab for that doctor."
Again, she confirmed what she told me.
Two weeks go by and it's Wednesday, the day before yesterday. I call the nurse back. "ARE YOU SURE IT'S THE DOWNSTAIRS LAB ANY TIME TOMORROW? Because it's not on my MyChart schedule. And also, I've never done a blood draw at that lab for this doctor."
"I'm looking at the schedule right here and it's here. No worries. Just go in tomorrow."
"Okay."
Yesterday...I get a phone call. This is a pre appointment screen to make sure I'm not coming in to spread COVID to everyone. (Good God woman, this is a medical clinic...WE CAN'T HAVE SICK PEOPLE HERE!) Do I have a fever? Have I traveled? Do I have shortness of breath?
I answer the questions. I do the online pre registration. This should be a fast in and out. But just in case, I pack my Nintendo Switch Skippy got me for Mother's Day so I can play Animal Crossing, which is very calming for me.
Then I get to the clinic. And I'm met with the temperature taker who takes my temperature and puts a sticker on my chest that says: "My NAME IS: 97.3" Then she tells me to go register at the kiosk.
"I already did online. Plus I confirmed everything by phone this morning."
"You still have to use the kiosk, she growls at me."
The only kiosk (remember, this is the time of COVID...I'm in a mask...we're supposed to distance...all of it) that's open is in a corner...next to a station where another nurse is giving a patient some kind of IV treatment. (I'm not making this up.) So I wedge myself next to the patient (I'm not even 6 inches away from her) and I attempt to use the kiosk, which has a mind of its own and clearly is out to make us all feel like morons.
The IV thing done, the nurse pushes the old lady out of our cubby corner and stands next to me to help me register. She has trouble operating it. After pushing "next' and "back" for about five minutes she tells me if I'd like to complain about this process, I can go to the front desk.
She's the one real hero in this little tableau.
So I'm finally checked in. I do not stop at the front desk to complain. I'm a blogger. I don't need to take more time out of my life at a front desk.
And I get to the downstairs lab.
Now...let's talk about social distancing in a medical office. I get that we need to stand 6 feet apart and all that. But I've not seen, until yesterday, a medical office that put the X for where you stand on the X six feet away from the desk and shout your medical information through your mask and through the plexiglass.
Apparently, in the downstairs lab, HIPPAA rules mean nothing.
So I first I have to wait for a couple minutes for anyone to notice me. Since I'm so far from the desk, they can't see me, because everyone's back is turned...they are hanging some kind of decorations on the wall. When someone finally notices me, she takes my name (and asks me to repeat my name and birthdate and doctor's name because she can't hear me through my mask and the plexiglass and the 6 feet of distancing.)
She tells me to take a seat. Two minutes later she yells "ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE?"
"Why?"
"BECAUSE THERE ARE NO ORDERS FOR YOU!"
It's at this point that my blood pressure starts to go up. Did I not call the office to MAKE SURE I was suppose to come to this fourth ring of hell for a blood test?
"I CALLED THE NURSE YESTERDAY AND CONFIRMED IT!"
"WHAT'S YOUR NAME, BIRTHDAY, AND DOCTOR'S NAME?"
Should it bother me that she can't find orders for me and has already forgotten my name?
No worries...five minutes later there are orders for me and I'm assigned a person to draw my blood and I'm in a chair for the blood draw.
Let's call my phlebotomist "Dee." I call her that because her name had nine syllables, none of which I'd ever heard as part of one name in this country. Dee wore a mask and a plastic shield. She asked me my name and birthday (because she hadn't heard me shout it before?) which, I had to repeat because she couldn't hear/understand me.
I'm annoyed, at this point, but hey, we are in the home stretch. Or. So. I thought.
Dee is a tiny, tiny, tiny thin woman with hair that weighs more than she does. Keeping the hair from knocking her over backwards seemed to be a problem for her. Also, she seemed....new? Like she was talking herself through the steps of the process.
She put the tourniquet on me and slapped my arm, looking for a vein. I have thin veins, always have, but it's never been an issue.
Until yesterday.
"How do they get blood out of you?" She asked.
"Um...in the normal way?"
She repositions the tourniquet and seems to find a vein and is about to poke me when she says, "Oh, wait."
She looks at the two vials she's supposed to fill and goes back to the rack of vials and gets different ones out. SHE HAD THE WRONG VIALS!
At this point another nurse sticks her head in the room, she's not wearing a mask. She asks if I'm Dr. H's patient. Dee looks at me and says, "Are you Dr. H's patient?"
"No."
"But what's your name?" Dee asks....she's looking at my chart right at that moment. "Is it, Sheila? Serena?"
"SARAH! My name is SARAH. My doctor's name is S....."
"So you're NOT Dr. H's patient?"
"NO!"
The other nurse leaves the room. Leaving Dee to her devices. Dee walks to steps toward me and we both hear a weird crack/popping sound. "Did you hear that?" Dee shrieks, rubbing her thigh. "That was my thigh or my hip or something around this area."
She's seriously worried about her thigh...or whatever...and it takes her a moment to recover and get back to poking me. And, of course, by this time she's lost the vein. So more slapping.
She finally gets the needle in...which hurts by the way, far more than many sticks I've had. She fills the vials (God along knows if they're the right ones at this point) and she takes the needle out.
"Wow, that was a perfect poke," she says.
Was it? Really?
I'm finally done. Finally. I'm seriously upset by it all and I'm exhausted. As I make my way out of the clinic I walk past the temperature taker lady who in the process of SHOUTING at an elderly man with a walker that he NEEDS TO USE THE KIOSK because they are all about NON CONTACT check in and he's telling her he did check in at home and doesn't want to use the kiosk. And I want to add that the kiosk is NOT NON CONTACT.
Instead, I escape out the door to my car. And all I want is a lime refresher at Starbucks. I want that because it mixes nicely with vodka and at this point in the story I NEED AN ADULT BEVERAGE.
So I get in line at the drive thru and I order a Lime Refresher and I'm told, in a very cheerful snotty voice, "Those were discontinued a year ago."
It was too much. Too much. And thus...the vulgarity laced rant when I got home. It was a rant that ended with a two hour nap.
I go in for an infusion today. Given how screwed up simple blood draw has been in the time of Covid...I can't wait to see what happens when I have something complex being done.
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