Growing Up Has Its Bruises

22 Aug

     Today was my first day at a “big girl” doctor. No, not a gyno, but just a doctor that doesn’t have a playroom full of toys, and pictures of rabbits brushing their teeth adorning the walls. It was a sad moment for me, because I loved my pediatricians, they were G-R-E-A-T, GREAT! So I rolled out of bed at 10:30AM for my appointment at 10:45AM, threw some clothes on, and was on my way. Upon my arrival, I filled out some paper work, and sat in the waiting room for about a half hour or so–I hate waiting in waiting rooms, it’s too cliche for me. Anyways, I was finally called into the room, and the nurse asked me what I was there for. I said I don’t know, and that my mom told me it was time to move to a new doctor so I guess I was there to like get a last minute check-up before school starts again, and that I also needed some blood work done. So she sat me down and tied a rubber band to my arm to find a good vein–nothing in my right arm. She switched to my left–nothing again. Crap. I knew from the get-go that this was going to turn into the blood drive fiasco my senior year of high school when the new nurse had trouble finding a vein, “found one”, stuck the needle in and then POOF!–my vein collapsed and my arm blew up like a watermelon shot with a rifle. The nurse eventually found a vein she thought would make do, but once the needle was in, she got 2 drops of blood into the container–FAIL. She then told me the doctor would try and find another vein, as she placed a bandage over where the needle had been, and threw out what blood had made it into the container–what a waste.

     I was then sent into the next room to wait for the doctor. I was in there for about 15 minutes, when the doctor came in and said “hello Allie, I’ll be a few more minutes, I’m sorry for the wait, here, take a magazine, I don’t know how old you are, but here”–she handed me a copy of Seventeen Magazine, I hope she knows just because that’s the name, doesn’t mean I have to be that old, or that young to read it. Another 10-15 minutes passed and I had thrown the magazine back onto the counter, and laid back on the table, still waiting for the doctor. Finally, at least another 10 minutes later the doctor walked in and was ready to help me!

     She started off by asking me basic questions–ya know, allergies, where I go to school, what I’m majoring in, etc… Then she got to the heavy hitting stuff about what medications I’m on, past medical history, and then she dropped the bomb–“are you sexually active”? I said no. “have you ever been?” Still, a no from me. “I won’t tell your mom”–I laughed–“are you sexually active?” Now, I said NO, yet again, because why would I lie to my doctor? I’m not sexually active, and I wasn’t going to tell her I was for shits and giggles, but the fact that she kept asking me if I was made me feel dishonest, for whatever reason, but I don’t know why she didn’t believe me when I was telling the truth–I guess a lot of other teens she treats lie when asked that question. Well, not me! I’m a golden-teen!

     She then proceeded to check my arms for veins with hopes of collecting the sufficient amount of blood to test in the labs. She obviously couldn’t find any, because I mean, when has my luck ever been good?…my thoughts exactly. The doctor decided the nurse was right, and that my veins were too small in the areas blood is usually taken from on a patient’s arm, so she moved up a little higher when she stuck the needle in. As the blood was running into the tube, she told me it’s a delicate vein she chose, and that it would bruise, swell, and become painful and sensitive to touch, so I have to ice it–yup, exactly what I KNEW was going to happen. When all was said and done, she secured a bandage on my arm, and told me to pee in a cup…per usual. When I arrived at the bathroom, I noticed I had a choice between paper or plastic cups–I felt like I was in a grocery store. Naturally, though I was used to peeing in plastic at my pediatrician, I chose the paper cup because I figured new doctor, new urine catcher. Now, I always have trouble doing this, I never know where to place the cup, at what angle to hold it, or like, what to do to avoid peeing on my own hand, not to mention I NEVER have to go when the time comes to pee in a cup, it sucks. 

     Finally, I finished. I was able to get only a tiny amount of urine into the cup, because I had gone to the bathroom as soon as I woke up, only about an hour before that very moment, like every normal human being, but this is all they were getting, so they’d have to figure out how to deal with it. Ha! I then took the cup to the first room where the nurse was, who would be taking my sample and submitting it to the lab–what  lucky lab, running tests on blood, and urine all day long, I don’t know about you but it sounds like a dream job to me! When I arrived outside the first room, the nurse was busy taking blood from another patient–one who seemed to not enjoy needles, great. So there I was, standing outside the examination room, with a paper cup, containing my own pee. People were passing by me, and I was hoping they’d just think I was holding a cup of water from the cooler down the hall, but that’s when I spotted the big, blue letters displaying URINE SAMPLE printed on one side of the cup…FML. So I waited, pee in hand, until the nurse was done. Then I ran out of the office, almost forgetting to pay my co-pay, which I then did, followed by running outside, into my car, where I felt the need to go to my pediatrician just to hug the doctors there–I contained myself, maybe I am growing up?…



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