[RIGHT]“With veins like that, Kid, I’d have myself a time!” – The Sailor, Naked Lunch, by William S. Burroughs (not the Tarzan guy)[/RIGHT]
Apparently, I’m just a wonderful example of the things a nurse or phlebotomist likes to see in [del]fresh meat[/del] a patient. To begin with, I have “beautiful” veins. The indigo tracery of my vascular system inspires happy little noises and excited commentary among those tasked with jabbing hollow steel spikes into my bloodstream. I am morally certain I could be started with an eighteen. I don’t have the hosepipes the gym rats develop, but, still, an eighteen.
I also have a textbook adrenaline response, secondary to my textbook needle phobia. I go from being excited, to being chalky, nauseous, and nearly unconscious, to being shaky, chattery in tooth and tingly in hands, and moderately prone to spilling cranberry juice on my shirt. This is also much valued, if only for the comedic potential.
My veins are genetic, as influenced by the weight I’ve lost, but the phobia is learned, was learned from long experience with needles due to ears that swelled and ruptured at the drop of a hat beginning at infancy and necessitating surgeries from very early childhood, not to mention all of the MRIs and CAT scans I underwent at a similarly young age.
So, given the foregoing, I’m happy I got the new trainee. It is important for the new people to see a good textbook response as a baseline for future expectations, and to get veins forgiving of errors they can hit the first time around. Good lord am I happy she hit a vein the first time around.