Draw Blood

“It looks like you haven't had blood work since '07, Mr. Winfield. I'm going to order it before your next appointment.” Dr. A. eyed me critically but his soft Middle Eastern accent soothed like honey oozing down a sore throat.

That ominous declaration started a real life sit-com that somehow seems to typify my current life phase. Dr. A. wrote a lab order sheet and handed it to me. I dutifully took it along with my co-pay receipt, prescription for an increase of my main blood pressure medication dosage, and my cell phone. I had obediently turned it off upon entering the exam room. Paraphernalia in hand, I trudged to the receptionist to 'check out'. I grinned inwardly at the irony of having a desk marked “Check Out” right outside a Cardiologist's door. You need an appointment for that too, these days?

I made a follow-up appointment, allowed appointments to be made for me at an Osteopath and a Dietitian. Knees are going and I've just learned I'm too fat. This getting old means there's a lot of appointments to keep. Apparently it's time to pay the piper for dancing with wild abandon, nearly non-stop for over half a century. They assure me I'll be a better man for it.

Blood work was ordered to check my triglycerides. Surely a fictitious concern. I'm supposed to go the next morning but when it arrived I realized I'd forgotten to fast. Ha! I got to stay home. I was probably subconsciously screening my true feelings. I didn't want to go to a vampire in Johnson City at 6:30 AM, anyway. Fasting is hard when you're used to eating the best things in life every waking hour of every day. You don't want to know what my typical diet consists of. Let me just say that it's every kid's dream to eat what I eat in the frequency and quantity I eat it in. Dr. A says I need to stop eating like a kid and eat like an adult. I'll have to find more adults to observe. I still use the old knife, fork, and spoon method my mother taught me. I conveniently forgot about the blood work.

Life goes on and after awhile I visit the Osteopath. He's in the same building as my cardio guy and that reminds me that I've yet to get the blood siphoned off. A month has passed and I still haven't found the lab paperwork, so I see Dr. A's receptionist. She calls downstairs for my chart and....SURPRISE! The original lab order is still in my chart! Unbelievable. I've looked everywhere and then looked everywhere else, repeatedly. I think the receptionist put it back in the chart just to goof on me. Make me think my marbles are untethered, or something. Well, the joke's on her. I didn't misplace it after all, and I'm not telling Dr. A. his receptionist is responsible for raising my blood pressure. He might think she's too hot for his patients to handle.

Between searches for my bloodwork order, I managed to make it to the Dietitian. She laughed and joked, talked about Jimmy Buffett and Parrot Heads. Her brother is one. I didn't judge. I left her my card. In the end I left her with an 1800 calorie diet that sneaky old Dr, A. told her to give me, and many more tips on cutting salt out of my life than I'll ever remember or wish to use. So he wants me to lose weight, eh? Guess he didn't have the stones to tell me I'm fat to my chubby little face. He doesn't know how easy going I really am.

The big evening arrives! NPO after 6 P. That means not to stick anything but a toothbrush in my mouth from dinner until after the next morning bloodletting. I told my wife to tackle me if I headed toward the kitchen or one of the several stashes of Reese's Big Cups, Mason Mints, Gertie Hawk's Smidgens, or the tray of huge muffins I picked up at Sam's Club. She told me I'm on my own. I have never been able to rely on my will power before, so why would she think I could this time? After all these years you'd think she'd know me better!

Made it. I awoke at 5:00 AM, famished. It took at least 10 seconds to realize why I felt so weak and puny. Some diminutive Pakistani was starving me, and probably laughing all the way to the bank.

Stumbling downstairs, I made a pot of coffee. No need for my wife to suffer because of my life of debauchery and disrespect for the temple that is my body. A glance in the mirror shows the temple has become more of a ragged old tent. With a monumental display of strength, I managed to avoid stuffing my face with any of the numerous available goodies. By 6:00 AM I've ultimately lurched my way to Johnson City.

The Lab Tech doesn't look reliable at this hour. She smells of sex and stale booze and has obviously missed her third cup of coffee. I probably look as hazy to her gaze as she does to mine. She rallied rather well, though. After excusing herself for a few minutes to compose herself, she returns to the lab smelling of Febreze and Altoids. She's ready to look at my paperwork. “Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Winfield,” she groaned, staring at my lab slip in disbelief. “It doesn't say what work he wants done, and Dr. A. hasn't signed it.”

“You mean I starved myself for days, left my warm bed in the middle of the night, dragged my dog out of the house to keep me company, and the sheet is blank?”

“Well, not blank,” she mumbled. “They put your file information sticker on the top,”

“I feel bad I bothered you with this sorry lack of preparation,” I purred convincingly. “I hope someone else shows up for blood work this morning so you won't be sitting here all alone.”

“I'll tell you what,” she said. “You came such a long way, and after all that starvation and trouble, I'll just take it. I'll draw the usual amount and if I don't get enough or they want something weird, I'll just call you back in.”

“Oh. You can do that?” I asked with surprised innocence. “I don't want you to get in any trouble.”

That sealed it. Hell and high water couldn't have kept that girl from draining my vein at that moment. She'd show them all how resourceful and responsible she is, and they'd be damned proud to have her. It wouldn't hurt that now I probably wouldn't mention her sad condition to her supervisor, either.

Minutes later I was tempting death on the J. C. Circle, heading back to Sanitaria Springs for a cup of fresh ground Kona coffee. Almost three years in the making, and involving a string of comedic errors rivaling a“Seinfeld” episode, it was over. Now I had only to wait for the news, good or bad.

When the results came back, I had the last laugh. Yes, I'm 35 pounds overweight. Sure, my knees need chemicals to keep the bones from rubbing together. But! Here's the rub........perfect cholesterol numbers, and my triglycerides are great. I can eat all the junk I want. Plus, I hear the lab tech has decided to start getting some rest and a shower before her early morning blood lettings.