Thy Name is "Veinity"

Actually it’s “thy name is vanity” but I can’t quite figure out how to do the play on words so that it appears “clever” as opposed to a typo.

I guess you could say I’m a little vain with little veins. It’s true. As for vanity, I won’t leave the house without a little makeup and, nine times out of ten, I spend way too much time on my frustratingly uncooperative hair.

The problem, however, isn’t my vanity but my “veinity.” The size of my veins, at least once a year, causes concern. Let me start at the beginning.

At my new gig (job), you are required to wait 60 days (actually, the 1st o f the month after your 60 days) to receive medical benefits. Fairly important to a single girl who recently lost her job (because she wouldn’t move to another state) and isn’t looking to take on COBRA.

After a meeting with my benefits specialist, I have to take yet another trek to the medical center to get my “wellness exam.” I roll in at 7:10 and I roll out at 8:04. (Apparently my veins “roll” too!) What transpired in between was pure torture - not your typical Monday morning torture either.

First, this place is laden with the degenerates of society, as well as those of us who lost our jobs, found new ones, and need to take a pre-employment drug test, or like me, need a “wellness exam” for benefits.

They have to draw blood. My blood. From my veins! This is no easy feat. It’s always multiple stabs until I bruise or they draw from a vein in my hand leaving a magnificent hue of purple, brown and yellow bruises.

Granted those that know me figure this shouldn’t be a big deal since that day I chose to let a man, who was not a doctor, inject me multiple times with a needle, filled with dye, so that I would have a permanent scar also known as, my tattoo. Forget that. A needle to veins, to draw blood for vials, freaks me out. (Say that ten times fast!) Sad but true.

So, girl nurse #1 decides it’s best to attempt to draw my blood, unsuccessfully, PRIOR to taking my BP. She got one shot. She failed. She’s done. I told her she could try again but she didn’t want to.

Boy nurse comes in. Crabby boy nurse with a shaved head, double pierced ears and well, albino-ish features. He says he’s having a bad day and he thinks I LOOK annoyed. It’s all true, so I immediately go into “nice girl mode.” (AKA Sybil-mode). It’s actually, “fearful girl mode” but hopefully he doesn’t know the difference. I get chatty, and I smile too much. I get confident and brave…it’s like I’m interviewing all over again and then I get the job and they wonder who that girl was they interviewed because it’s NOT THE SAME GIRL. I mean, she looks like the same girl but…I digress.

Boy Nurse gets nicer. Calmer. He ties me up (my arm, tight, trying to find a big fat vein) and tells me to make a fist. I figure I’ll just punch him if he jabs me more than three times. He finds a vein and goes for it. I feel the pinch. I start praying…

I ask him if “we’re good” and he says, “not yet…”

Then there’s silence.

Finally he yells, “We’re good now. DON’T MOVE!” (Like I’m going to?) I ask him very slowly if I can breath. He begs me to do so.

You realize that you go though all these difficult times and losses in your life and you survive them and they make you stronger. Then all it takes is a needle (or a silverfish) to bring you to your knees. Silly fears.

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson is afraid of spiders. THE ROCK! We all have our secret fears and phobias…

And this will (eventually) lead to another blog.

What do you fear?