Blood Type: F-
I'm in a rotation at school that's all about research and laboratory genetics. Fascinating. Mostly it consists of sitting in a tiny, freezing yellow break room trying to maintain my body temperature and waiting for lab people to come get me so I can watch them do things that require gloves, bodily fluids and expensive machinery. The internet cuts out whenever someone uses the microwave, maintenance people fly by the doors on strange indoor cars and Chinese lab techs slurp disgusting entrees while reading websites that look like pop-up ads. I'm learning a lot.
Anyway, as a part of this rotation we get to have our own chromosomes done, something that I am inordinately excited about. In order to do this, we obviously have to give a blood sample. I'm the last person in this rotation, so I've watched as my classmates take their empty tubes to parts unknown and then some time later, return with their very own karyotypes. Thanksgiving is sort of hosing up my whole rotation, so I've been working on getting my stuff done around the break. I asked around about getting my blood drawn, and all points seemed to indicate that I should get it done at University of Chicago, where my rotation is. I headed to the campus last Friday and told my supervisor that I was interested in getting my blood drawn. She told me that the last time the nurse came down to draw someone's blood (to the basement, of course, because where else would a genetics laboratory be?) she got in trouble because it wasn't really her job. My supervisor told me she'd see if anyone was around who could do it and left. I began the futile search for a wifi connection to pass the time. A little while later, supervisor came back followed by a lab tech.
"Lisa, Anthony can draw your blood. He used to draw blood as part of a research protocol, so he said he'd be fine doing it." Anthony walked over to me.
"Can I see your arms?" I proffered my elbowpits for his inspection. "Hmmm. You have really tiny veins."
"Yeah, I know."
"Well... I think I can do it." Think? Real great. Yes, please stick pointy things in my arm as long as you think you can do it.
"If you're really going to do this," I said, "I want to hear some confidence."
"I can do it." All right. I want these chromosomes, we'll just get it over with today and then I'll be on my way to a shiny copy of my genetic material. We agreed to meet after the lab meeting, and he went off to become more confident. I began chugging water to encourage my veins to swell.
After the seemingly eternal lab meeting, I met Anthony in the molecular lab. He had an armful of blood-letting paraphernalia, including but not limited to butterfly needles, tourniquets, tubes, tubing, alcohol and band aids. They put down an absorbent pad to hold all of this and I sat down. Anthony enlisted another woman in the lab to hold the blood tube and depress the plunger-thing when the blood started coming out, and we began. I looked away, not interested in the details of this process. I was perched on a lab stool and didn't feel like fainting onto the lab floor from such a height. I focused on anything else while things were happening to my arm. Anthony declared that the needle was going in, and I braced myself for... nothing, really. It didn't hurt at all. I didn't hear any calls of triumph for quite some time. And then:
"Uh... oh. I think I went through the artery. I didn't get it."
Hmmm. You'd think I would have felt that. I felt him pull away and turned my head to see what was going on. What was going on was that a river of blood was pouring down my arm, all over the absorbent pad, dripping down off of my shoe and puddling on the floor. Oh. That's not what we set out to do.
Anthony began a non-stop stream of apologies while pressing gauze into the bend of my arm. "I am so, so sorry. Are you okay? I am so so sorry."
And honestly, it still didn't hurt at all. If I hadn't looked over, I would not have known that I was exsanguinating. Quite a surprise, really. Luckily I excel at clotting and the source quickly dried up. Anthony cleaned up the microcosmic murder scene while I cringed at the large purple welt on my arm. Sonofabitch.
So that was an utter failure. No blood. Well, plenty of blood, but none in the tube. But still, nothing had hurt so far, so that was good.
"Do you want me to try again?"
Well that was certainly a question. I weighed my options and decided to go for it. I can't truly explain why, looking back on it. I wanted it done, I wanted my chromosomes, I didn't want to have bled all over the floor for nothing. I nodded slowly.
"One more try." He found a suitable spot and prepared to try again. The tube was set, I looked away. And this one hurt. I could feel everything and it was not good. He tried in vein (see what I did there?) for a few seconds and then gave up. No blood for the tube. More apologies and some thanks for trying and I left, feeling oddly like a failure.
For the rest of the day, every time I saw Anthony he apologized. I think I have a cookie bouquet coming my way. But honestly, most of it didn't hurt. The only (ha: only) reminder I have is an alarmingly large, reddish-purple bruise that isn't going anywhere anytime soon.
And I still have to find someone to draw my blood.
Fail.
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