CONTENT WARNING: Description of needles / blood

As a student midwife, one of the things that I had to learn was drawing blood for testing.

One morning, I was given this task as there were a lot of blood tests due and it would be good practice. Together with my mentor, I put together all the bundles of equipment I would need into trays along with the paperwork for the test, so I could pick up the next set while sending the ones I had just taken to the lab. My mentor joined me for the first couple to make sure of my technique, and then I was set loose on my own.

After four women, I had gotten into a routine: enter the bedside, introduce myself and explain why I was there, check that I had the right patient, place the tourniquet, find the vein, clean the skin, needle in, attach the blood bottle, take the blood, detach the blood bottle, release the tourniquet, needle out and onto the tray, plaster on, and throw the contents of tray into the sharps bin. Then, I would sit and write the name of the patient on the blood bottle and package it up to send to the lab.

I got to one patient’s room who needed multiple bottles of blood, so I put them all down on the tray as I filled them. Then, when I had finished, I picked up the tray and threw every single blood bottle into the sharps bin.

I have never felt my stomach drop so quickly, and the look of horror on my face as I turned around to my patient (who it turned out was a nurse) made her burst out laughing.

As I was taking her blood again, she told me the story of the first time she had done that and reassured me that I was now part of a very large club.

I work in an operating room. A nurse comes into the break area looking angry and grumbling.

Me: “What happened?”

Nurse: “We told [Patient] that for his outpatient procedure, he had to eat or drink nothing after midnight, and he just told me he ate a full breakfast this morning!”

Me: “Did he understand the instructions?”

Nurse: “English is his first language! No, he said it was because we were replacing his knee, not working on his stomach, so it didn’t make any sense. We have to cancel the procedure now!”

Me: “If it makes you feel better, one of my patients last month, a college kid, was told ‘only clear liquids until midnight and then nothing.’”

Nurse: “And?”

Me: “And they drank vodka and did cocaine up until midnight because it was a ‘clear liquid’. Of course, he didn’t tell us any of this, so we didn’t find out until the kid started aspirating and crashing as soon as he went to sleep.”

Later that day, I told a patient not to eat anything after midnight and they said, “What’s gonna happen to me? Am I gonna turn into a gremlin?” Gotta love people.

I’m a nurse. I have to “shave prep” someone’s inguinal area for an upcoming cardiac angiogram. This is the area where your thigh meets your hip. Try to find your pulse there; that’s the spot.

Me: “I’m going to go get the clippers, sir. Just lay on the bed and drape this towel over your privates.”

I come back to find him standing naked.

Patient: “What? I thought you wanted to see my d**k.”

Me: “Sir… what part of my instructions to cover yourself made you think I wanted to see it?”

Patient: “Oh… Sorry.”

My girlfriend has been injured at work and has gone to A&E (Accident & Emergency). I meet up with her shortly before she’s taken in for triage, and she asks me to come in with her.

Nurse: *Eyeing me* “Are you pregnant?”

Girlfriend: “No.”

Nurse: *Eyes me again* “How can you be sure?”

Girlfriend: “I’m on my period.”

Nurse: “Do you think it’s possible that your period is causing your symptoms?”

Girlfriend: “No.”

Nurse: “Why do you think that?”

Girlfriend: “My fingers don’t usually break when I’m on my period.”

Nurse: “What?”

Girlfriend: “I’ve broken my finger.”

Nurse: “But we were talking about your pregnancy.”

Girlfriend: “I’m not pregnant.”

Nurse: “So, you’re having trouble with cramping.”

Girlfriend: *Getting irritated now* “No. I’ve broken my finger.”

Nurse: “But are you sure this has nothing to do with your pregnancy?”

Girlfriend: “I’ve broken my finger.”

Nurse: “And—”

Girlfriend: “I’ve broken my finger. What aren’t you getting?”

Nurse: “Yes, but… No. I think we should do a pregnancy test just to be sure.”

[Girlfriend] looks at me like she’s about to snap a certain someone’s neck.

Girlfriend: “I’m not f****** pregnant. Can someone look at my f****** finger?!”

The nurse purses her lips and leaves, muttering about my girlfriend being a problem patient. We wait for about five minutes before I look outside the room for someone. I wave a nurse down and ask what’s happening. She disappears, too, and I sit back down.

Twenty minutes later, another nurse comes in and is startled to see us. She says my girlfriend has already been discharged, mentioning something about morning sickness, before my girlfriend screams at the top of her lungs:

Girlfriend: “MY FINGER IS BROKEN!”

The nurse’s face went pale, and within a minute, [Girlfriend]’s finger was being looked at.

We left another hour later. [Girlfriend] was given two discharge letters. One was for the broken finger. The other said she was having problems with her pregnancy because of her period, and it was making her irritable.

She has since received a letter and phone call apologising for the problems she had. She’s adamant that she will go further afield if she needs to go to the hospital again.

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Years ago, I adopted a little black cat. She was a big lover but did not come declawed and, at the time, did not suffer fools nor enjoy being held by anyone but me and my then-boyfriend.

We took her to a vet’s office to have a checkup that involved having blood drawn, getting some vaccines, and the like. It was our first time going to this vet as we were new to the area.

Our first impressions weren’t great. The vet himself kept calling my clearly female cat a boy, no matter how many times we corrected him. There was also a vet tech who, from the first second we met her, clearly didn’t want to be there and made it everyone else’s problem.

Finally, toward the end of the intake visit where we were going to leave the cat and come back after everything was done, the vet tech opened the carrier and took my cat out, picking her up to hold her.

Me: “Hey, uh, she doesn’t like to be held. I would put her down if I were—”

Tech: “Oh, nonsense! She’s such a sweet little baby.”

The sweet little baby in question was still in shock about where she was, but I could see that was wearing off.

Me: “No, seriously, she’s not declawed, and you’re going to want to put her down.”

Tech: *Snapping* “It’s fine! I handle cats all day; I know what I’m doing!”

My boyfriend and I made eye contact and shared a quiet conversation, and then he just shrugged. “Let her learn,” that look said. So, we headed out to run errands and would come back to get the cat in an hour.

No sooner had we left and gotten two blocks away than I got a call from the vet office.

Me: “Hello?”

Vet: *Sounding a little shaken* “So, umm… Kitty did not like being held, and Kitty did not like getting her blood drawn… I think to proceed we will need to look into sedation options.”

I could clearly hear the vet tech cursing in pain in the background.

Me: *Pauses* How safe is it, and how much will it cost?

The vet gave me all the information about the sedative.

Vet: “…and we’ll discount it.”

We really needed the vaccinations to keep her registered legally in the city, so we gave the go-ahead.

After our errands, we came back to a vet tech with plenty of deep, bandaged gouges taken out of her chest and shoulder who wouldn’t meet our eyes, a vet who advised that the cat was maybe feral, and a very, very high kitty.

We never went back, and my cat has never had another incident at a vet’s office in the seven years since, mostly because all the other vets and techs listen to us.