Yesterday was just one of those days where plans that should execute quickly and easily go awry.
I went to have a blood test taken at our local collection agency and the nurse was unable to get any blood out. After three goes she sent me into town to the central clinic. There the lovely American nurse (with a great southern accent) had a good look at my veins - tightened the tourniquet, got me squeezing the foam ball (which, incidentally, left Ginger in total nuclear meltdown because any ball belongs to her!) and started to extract. She got two of the vials filled before the vein collapsed. A very determined lady, she started flicking me to get the blood to flow again (I am familiar with this - the anesthetist had the same problem when I was delivering Ginger). We got all the necessary vials filled but I am left with a rather sore, bruised arm.
The nurse's conclusion was that I have 'delicate' veins for which the suction of the needle is too strong and they collapse. I told her that in future I will just come straight to her and avoid the middleman:) She responded that "that is what they all say". So, I wonder just how many people have trouble with these outlying clinics.
Then I got home and realised that in my distraction of trying to console Ginger about the ball I had told the Nurse my weight from when I delivered Ginger not my current weight. Goodness knows why but this thought occurred to me about 10 minutes before the clinic shut. So, I duly but rather sheepishly rang up hoping to get the lovely Amanda again but, no, I got the lab scientist whose tone very clearly indicated that he thought I must be a lunatic to have overestimated my weight by 10 kilograms (about 20 pounds).
Ah, it is days like that which remind me just how fallible I am:)