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A Medical Anomaly

A recent trip to the doctor reminded me why I don’t like doctor’s visits. While it’s nothing personal against the medical profession I have found myself the subject of a medical anomaly on many an occasion.

On a recent visit my new doctor wanted to make sure that my low blood sugar wasn’t in fact diabetes. Though I was diagnosed as hypoglycemic years before she wanted to be sure. “I just want to be sure.” She says. “Though you’re very thin, there is a possibility and I want to be sure it’s in fact low blood sugar. The nurse will come in prick your finger and test your blood. It will only take a few seconds.” She assured me. I consented. A few seconds of my time to double check was nothing.

The nurse comes in a well seasoned pleasant and very professional. “I’ll just prick you quick and it’ll be over.” She smiles at me. I turn away because I hate needles. True to her word she pricks me hard and quick. I can feel her squeezing my finger rather briskly. This was followed by “Oh this has never happened before, you won’t bleed. I’m sorry I’m going to have to prick you again.” I nodded as she went out the door and came back with another lance. I give her another finger, which she assures me this should be it. Again I turn away. A sharp prick ensues and still the nurse is repeating her actions. “ I’m so sorry I can’t believe this is happening. You aren’t bleeding enough. In fact you won’t bleed at all.” She looks at me with a peculiar look. “You must have really small veins.” I told her I did indeed and that I simply wasn’t a bleeder. She tells me she’ll be back; she has to get another lance. She must poke me again.

At this point it should be clear why I dread doctor visits. She comes back smiling. I can see however that she is worried that at this third try I might not bleed. “I’m going to really have to jab you hard sweetie.” She apologizes. I assure her I understand. But I’m not happy. “Words I love to hear.” I respond jokingly. True to her word she jabs me-hard. I refrain from crying out. I can hear her muttering but can’t make out the words. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what’s going on. She’s massaging my arm, pointing my hand down and squeezing my finger. The nurse is determined not to have to jab me again. Bless her, because I didn’t think I could sit through it again. After a few seconds she cries out in triumph. She has managed to squeeze out a whole whopping drop! As it turns out I have low blood sugar. My doctor advises me to eat something after the appointment.

The nurse offers me three band-aids just in case I bleed. She examines my fingers and can’t believe there’s not a drop of blood anywhere. Not even a sign where she pricked me. After assuring her that I am human she shuffles out of the room. On the drive home my poor fingers are throbbing. I look down to see all three fingers bruised at the tips. I laugh out loud. You gotta love the irony.