This is my first blog post of June. WOOO!
Life is in full swing right now, and it’s just been crazy insane in the membrane and all sorts of things. I didn’t know exactly what to write, I just knew I didn’t want to neglect blogging. It’s almost become a personal…I don’t know…memory keeper? Is that even a thing? Screw it.
I figured I’d give you a little story about what’s happened lately. In my last post, I explained that HOMG I GOT A JOB (sort of) and needed to get blood tests and the like. Weeeelllllllll, here’s the story of just that. The tests. And this is going to be long.
I left the house early, around 10am, last Friday, leaving the husband (who is graciously amazing with the kids, and I couldn’t be more lucky to have someone like him) alone. With kids. Poor guy. I had to get these things done. I had my own list of errands, for what I can remember as the first time in my adult life. I think. Here’s what was on the agenda:
Get crickets for Django
I think that was it. Not a long list by any means, but for the person that hardly ever leaves the house, or wears pants, it’s lengthy enough.
I started making my way to a local walk-in clinic, because I figured if I could just get the needle shit done first, I wouldn’t have to worry. Ohai. My name is Rachel and I hate, hate, HATE needles (yetihave3tattoosandafewpiercingsandletsnottalkaboutit). Well, I go in, try to get situated, and find out that our insurance provider hasn’t been paying their end of the deal, at all, so I have a hefty bill in my name and they can’t/won’t do anything for me until it’s taken care of. I should’ve taken it as a bad sign, but I pressed on. All of this was necessary, and I was going to get it taken care of.
After talking with the husband, he suggested to try the other walk-in clinic in the next town over, which worked out great. I had to go there anyway. So, I went, and I got my drug test first. I passed it, easily, and tried calling the clinic. No answer. I kept trying to call, with still no answer, and finally just went to grab a bite to eat. After I was done, I called again, and still nothing. So I did what everyone else would do – I just walked in.
I waited for almost 90 minutes. 90. NINETY. Enough to watch the last half of The Talk and Let’s Make A Deal. And, hey, while I can, I’m just going to put out there that I miss watching Whose Line Is It Anyway? and seeing Wayne Brady sing on there.
I finally get called back and sat into an exam room. And I wait. And then a nurse comes in, discusses everything that I need done, gets info, etc., leaves, and I wait. Then a doctor comes in, does everything the nurse just did, leaves, and then I wait more. And then the nurse walks in with a needle. And the words just slip out of my mouth.
“Woah, woah, woah. Where’s the plastic thingy?”
I guess I should go ahead and tell you that I was tested for TB once before, when I was in 2nd grade. And, back then, it was this little light blue plastic thing with a bunch of “needles” on it. They were blunt, and they just kinda stamped into your skin. I remember this because I had a huge breakdown at home the day before. I heard stories from my mom and dad about how when they got it done it was, literally, a bunch of needles that punched into your skin. SHARP needles.
So, yeah, I was immediately on edge when I saw the woman come in with a needle.
“Oh, hun, this is for your TB test.”
Oh. Oh really.
“No. No, no. No. A TB test is done with the little plastic thing that kind of stamps your skin.”
“Oh, hun, they did away with that YEARS ago.”
“Oh. Okay, so..um..how does this work?”
“Well, this needle goes right under your skin, like an allergy test, and then it swirls around a little bit to make a reservoir in your skin to collect the bacteria.”
Oh. Hell. No. I thought I was about to pass out. First, I’ve never had an allergy test. Second, did she SERIOUSLY just mention needles and SWIRLING IN MY SKIN?!
Yeah, she did. And they she decided to go the extra mile.
“Hun, you DO know that to take your blood, we’re going to have to use a needle. Right?”
Okay, lady. Sarcasm is MY thing. And I don’t appreciate the use of it when I’m about to get a needle shoved under my skin and twirled about in haphazardness fashion to make a pocket to harbor bacteria.
In the end, I had it done (and I passed) and I had my blood drawn. All the while, the nurse had a smile on my face. Probably because I was saying something to myself the entire time. Not just saying, but more like chanting or war crying.
“I AM A BEAST. I BROUGHT THREE CHILDREN INTO THIS WORLD. I’VE HAD THREE C-SECTIONS. I’M A BEAST AND I CAN DO THIS.”
Next time, I’m going to research EVERY FUCKING THING before I get anything done. Even if it’s something as simple as a tonsil swab.