My first stop was to get my blood drawn. Because I no longer have my port (insert dancing with enthusiasm here), I visited what I refer to as the blood closet. Right off the waiting area, it is literally a very tiny room where the phlebotomist draws patients' blood and analyzes it. At most, the max capacity of the closet is three people. Of all days I have my appointment scheduled, this particular day there is some computer/blood analyzer failure. So not only are there two nurses in the closet, one for drawing blood and one to figure things out, there is also the computer guy, another patient, and myself. As we packed in like sardines, I took a seat in the chair for the nurse to draw my blood. As the nurse began to shuffle around with needles and other sharp instruments, I began to wonder if it was too late to escape to the chemo room and have my old nurses just draw my blood. Alas, she honed in on my arm and hit a vein. After the draw was complete, she instructed me to hold the cotton swab against the draw site. And I did, for what I deemed an appropriate amount of time. While she was still wiggling her way around the closet trying to put my blood in the appropriate analyzer, I simply tossed the cotton swab into the nearby hazardous waste receptacle.
She must have had the nurse's sixth sense, because as soon as I did that, she turned around and scolded me, "Did I tell you to take that off, yet?"
"Uhh, no, but I thought it was done bleeding. I think it will be okay."
"Well, it isn't done bleeding, look!" she said as she pointed to the tiniest drop of blood in the crook of my elbow. As she handed me another cotton swab, she firmly instructed me to hold it on my arm until she said told me otherwise.
After successfully following directions the second time, I made it out of the blood closet back to the waiting room. After my doctor visited with me, checked me over for any unusual lumps, and told me to "keep having tons of fun," I went to visit my nurses.
Seeing them again was wonderful. They were excited to see me healthy. I gave them all a quick update on my life and munched on some of the usual sweet goodies that reside on their desk. As I went to leave, one of my favorite nurses, Sally the drug pusher, came over and gave me a hug and told me she was happy for me. I can only imagine the importance of remembering and savoring success stories in a job where sadness can be so prevalent. The nurses were genuinely happy to see me healthy and their joy reminded me to always be thankful for not only the health I have, but also the path that brought me to where I am today.
