I was sitting in the examining room at the doctor's office, still dressed but freezing just the same. I'd moved from being perched on the end of the examining table to sitting in one of the chairs, because I hate to sit for any length of time without support for my back. The doctor was running late, but there's nothing new about that.
This time, however, I wasn't stuck flipping through year-old news magazines and perfume-drenched fashion rags. I had my Palm with me, and I've downloaded lots of games to it. While I waited for the doc, I played a game of Scrabble (once again whomping the computer into sludge - it helps that my vocabulary is somewhat wider than its and it doesn't restrict me to using its dictionary - it would be easy to cheat, but I try not to) and a round of Yahtzee. I was halfway through a MahJongg game when the doctor came in.
"Ah-ha!" he proclaimed. "Ready, aim... Palm!" He pulled his own Palm out of his pocket and pointed it at me like a phaser. I laughed. We discussed the benefits of the optional hard case for a while (he demonstrated the dents and dings his had acquired and strongly recommended that I replace my soft cover at the earliest opportunity) and then he got down to the basic exam.
Eventually he left so I could take off my clothes (why bother?) and I marvelled over the fact that this time the stupid little gown was actually big enough not only to go all the way around me, but to actually tie shut. I finished my MahJongg game while I waited for him to come back.
He returned and poked at various things, shined lights into my ears and eyes, prodded at some more things, and almost but not quite hit my ticklish spot while checking my internal organs. Then he opened the door and called for the nurse to assist him with the Fun Part. (What he actually said was "Carol, we're ready for you," or something like that. He's not that much of a comedian.)
While we were waiting, he told me, "Carol's husband has a Palm, too. We'll get her when she comes in!" So we did - when the nurse came through the door, both of us pointed our Palms at her like phasers. The doctor was in high spirits. He thought it was the joke of the century. "If your husband had been behind you," he chortled, "we'd have had you for sure!"
The nurse just rolled her eyes and helped him unfold the stirrups.
Finally, the exam over, my prescriptions written, my clothes back on, the doctor asked the nurse to draw some blood for my annual thyroid test, to make sure the Synthyroid prescription he'd just written was correct. She led me into the bloodletting room. While she tied the tourniquet around my arm, I explained about my awful veins, and pointed out the I.V. scar that remains from my trip to the emergency room a few weeks ago, suggesting that it would be a good guide.
She looked at the scar. "Oh, I hate using veins in that area." She lightly slapped at my arm, trying to get the veins to come up. I pointed out the bluish mark on the outside of my elbow, which is the only other half-decent spot until you get to my hands. She slapped at that, and frowned when it wouldn't come up. "I'll use a baby needle," she decided. Quietly, I was grateful. My veins are small, so using the regular-sized needle frequently takes three or four tries and leaves my arm sore and bruised for a week.
I resolutely examined the soothing painting on the wall opposite and winced but made no noise when I felt the needle go in. "Huhn," she said. "I got blood, so I'm in the vein, but it stopped coming!" She adjusted my arm. Just when I was about to suggest she pull the needle and try again, she said, "Ah, there..." and released the tourniquet.
Usually, once this happens, it takes about five seconds for them to draw the blood they need. This time, it took about three minutes, along with another nurse coming in to put the tourniquet back on, and several adjustments of the needle, a few of which hurt like hell. And when she finally decided it was enough and pulled the needle out, I saw that she'd only managed about half an inch of blood in the bottom of the test tube.
My lesson? Never tease a nurse when she's likely to be putting needles in you later. Ow...
Word of the Day: declivity - a descending slope; downward inclination
Hey! That's our yard! The front yard, to be fair, is mostly level. But the sides and back yard both slant sharply downward toward the ditch, which of course is even steeper. I wonder if that's why the neighborhood kids feel obliged to use our yard as the crossing-point for their bicycles?
Every time he mows the yard, Matt says he's considering my dad's suggestion that we terrace. And we're strongly considering some spiky bushes planted along the edge of the ditch to keep the kids out...
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