The Dreamer
She's been the one to do labs on me every time I go to this office. I don't know her name. That says something not so great about me. I should know her name. But, I do not. My bad.
Today was an early stick day. I prefer those, although getting up at 6:00 is not really my thing. I like being the first one on the roster. No waiting.
And there she was today, as she always is. I saw her as I parked. It was still dark outside and since the blinds were open and the lights on inside the doctor's office, I could see her hunched over her computer, reading something as she sipped her coffee. I walked in, checked in with the receptionist, and sat waiting. Someone had burned their pop tart this morning in the toaster. The whole place smelled of burned pastry.
She came out to the waiting room, called my name. I slowly got up and followed her to the phlebotomy room. I hate phlebotomy rooms because I am a notoriously hard stick. I have either the veins of a newborn or of a 90 year old woman, depending on whom you ask.
"Your veins are so teeny tiny and they swirl around like clouds, dipping and diving. Even once they are caught, they often have the last laugh because they just collapse when the needle goes in."
I sure know how to have fun, huh? I am very used to seeing faces fall when they see it is me that they have to stick. I am most nurse's nightmare.
Except for her. She not only ALWAYS gets me on the first stick, but she gets me in the arm, not the hand. It is extremely painful to be stuck in your hand, but often the nurses will give my arm a cursory look, shake their heads and head for my hand.
Not her. Every time I have had her, I warn her that I am a hard stick. She always says, "Well, let's have a feel anyway. Veins can be sneaky." She ties my arm hard and then taps a few times in the bend of my arm and eventually smiles. "THERE you are!" she will say, as if she has found some unruly toddler hiding behind the sofa.
This time was no different. She found that vein right away.
"You have to go by feel," she explained. "You have a nice, juicy vein right...there...you just have to be gentle. It doesn't like to be prodded. The key is I silently talk to it. I tell it that I need to take blood from it in order to help it heal. Once the vein understands, it cooperates. A vein is a lot like a person. They just need things explained and then they are happy to help."
We talk for a little bit while I am getting my arm taped up afterwards. She came here to the states when she was 14. Illegally. With her parent. They were fleeing Aleppo.
"Where we came from? Aleppo? You could be killed just being outside. Women were NEVER outside if they could help it. You would be raped. My father was killed going to the grocery store. My mother fled with me with her brother and sister in law. When we arrived here, it was almost too good to be true," she said. "The first time I was in a grocery store, I started crying. ALL THAT FOOD."
She briefly says that her mother and aunt got work as maids, her uncle as a grounds worker. They all still perform these jobs. But, she went to school and studied hard.
"Getting my nursing degree was the happiest day of my life," she says.
I start putting my coat on. "So, you're a dreamer," I say.
She nods. "Yes. I am. And, I know...my time may be limited. Funny. I feel as if this is my home," she says, gesturing around her. "I love this country, it saved my family. I love helping people. I haven't married. If I marry, I may have a better chance. But, you know...I want to marry for love, not necessity. And I haven't met anyone special yet."
She gestured to my gloves, hanging out of my coat pocket. Told me to put them on as it is so cold outside.
I thanked her again. She has no idea how much a good stick means to me. She smiled and waved me off, like....no biggee.
It wasn't until I was out in my car, driving to a Starbucks that I realized that I didn't even know her name. All I know is that she is a dreamer and probably a better citizen than most of the people that I know.
Next time, I will find out her name. Until then, I'll just call her the dreamer.
Today was an early stick day. I prefer those, although getting up at 6:00 is not really my thing. I like being the first one on the roster. No waiting.
And there she was today, as she always is. I saw her as I parked. It was still dark outside and since the blinds were open and the lights on inside the doctor's office, I could see her hunched over her computer, reading something as she sipped her coffee. I walked in, checked in with the receptionist, and sat waiting. Someone had burned their pop tart this morning in the toaster. The whole place smelled of burned pastry.
She came out to the waiting room, called my name. I slowly got up and followed her to the phlebotomy room. I hate phlebotomy rooms because I am a notoriously hard stick. I have either the veins of a newborn or of a 90 year old woman, depending on whom you ask.
"Your veins are so teeny tiny and they swirl around like clouds, dipping and diving. Even once they are caught, they often have the last laugh because they just collapse when the needle goes in."
I sure know how to have fun, huh? I am very used to seeing faces fall when they see it is me that they have to stick. I am most nurse's nightmare.
Except for her. She not only ALWAYS gets me on the first stick, but she gets me in the arm, not the hand. It is extremely painful to be stuck in your hand, but often the nurses will give my arm a cursory look, shake their heads and head for my hand.
Not her. Every time I have had her, I warn her that I am a hard stick. She always says, "Well, let's have a feel anyway. Veins can be sneaky." She ties my arm hard and then taps a few times in the bend of my arm and eventually smiles. "THERE you are!" she will say, as if she has found some unruly toddler hiding behind the sofa.
This time was no different. She found that vein right away.
"You have to go by feel," she explained. "You have a nice, juicy vein right...there...you just have to be gentle. It doesn't like to be prodded. The key is I silently talk to it. I tell it that I need to take blood from it in order to help it heal. Once the vein understands, it cooperates. A vein is a lot like a person. They just need things explained and then they are happy to help."
We talk for a little bit while I am getting my arm taped up afterwards. She came here to the states when she was 14. Illegally. With her parent. They were fleeing Aleppo.
"Where we came from? Aleppo? You could be killed just being outside. Women were NEVER outside if they could help it. You would be raped. My father was killed going to the grocery store. My mother fled with me with her brother and sister in law. When we arrived here, it was almost too good to be true," she said. "The first time I was in a grocery store, I started crying. ALL THAT FOOD."
She briefly says that her mother and aunt got work as maids, her uncle as a grounds worker. They all still perform these jobs. But, she went to school and studied hard.
"Getting my nursing degree was the happiest day of my life," she says.
I start putting my coat on. "So, you're a dreamer," I say.
She nods. "Yes. I am. And, I know...my time may be limited. Funny. I feel as if this is my home," she says, gesturing around her. "I love this country, it saved my family. I love helping people. I haven't married. If I marry, I may have a better chance. But, you know...I want to marry for love, not necessity. And I haven't met anyone special yet."
She gestured to my gloves, hanging out of my coat pocket. Told me to put them on as it is so cold outside.
I thanked her again. She has no idea how much a good stick means to me. She smiled and waved me off, like....no biggee.
It wasn't until I was out in my car, driving to a Starbucks that I realized that I didn't even know her name. All I know is that she is a dreamer and probably a better citizen than most of the people that I know.
Next time, I will find out her name. Until then, I'll just call her the dreamer.
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