I talked to the nurse last week because my symptoms are worse rather than better. This is clearly the wrong direction. And as my friend told me today - she has the same problem, "her doctor gets Prada shoes and she gets sicker." The nurse reminded me that I need to get the blood tests done in order to complete my diagnosis and to possibly help me.
Sigh. Honestly, I'm squeamish about IVs after the horrendous experiences I've had with them but a blood draw is not a big deal to me.
My daughter was freaked out about it. Gabriel is beside himself when I bring up the subject. I took a couple days to prepare them and went in confident. (Kind of)
Gabriel got anxious right away and I had to continually reassure him that the phlebotomist wouldn't take too much of my blood. Poor child.
When I was called back, Lane's curiosity sprang as she asked about the funny chair and the color of the band aids. Overall, she seemed fine.
Gabriel sat on the floor but he was worried. I realized it wasn't a good time to finish his blood draw from October. This was especially true when the phlebotomist told me about a little boy with autism who came in and she couldn't get all of the necessary blood for the tests.
The boy yelled at her and told her that he wanted his blood back. He wanted to drink the blood and thought the he was going to turn into a vampire.
Thankfully she left out the part about how his mother tried to take him out the door and he threw himself on the ground, kicking and hitting anyone in his way. He wanted his blood back! How his mother wanted the ground to swallow her whole when another phlebotomist yelled at her son for kicking her.
Yep that was MY kid and the reason why I didn't rush to get my blood drawn with him at my side. I didn't tell this phlebotomist that she was speaking about my son. I was curious what she had to say about that awful experience where I apologized more in one location than ever before in my life.
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