Out and About

         Some days you just find yourself in curious conversations. First, I went to a lab to have standard testing. The lab tech drawing my blood noticed how pale I am (oh please—you may have read about that here). She said I should wait a bit before getting up and leaving. Presumably we could wait until the next ice age, if she’s waiting for me to suddenly flush with a golden tan.

          “I don’t want to find you passed out on the bathroom floor,” she said.

          “Well,” I smiled, “I want this even less than you do.” Kinda wanted to say, “It’s all about you again, isn’t it?” but didn’t know if she’d get my joke.

          From there I went to a thrift shop where the cashier guy made a mistake and said he hoped he wouldn’t get fired for it.

          “I’m sure they wouldn’t fire you for that,” I said.

          “Yeah, but I already have two strikes against me for not being able to keep my mouth shut.”

          Ah, well, this could be a learning experience, couldn’t it?

          “Time to start looking for another job,” the fellow continued.

 I wanted to be helpful, but all I could think of was this guy dressed as a mime.

          What other jobs could someone have, who can’t keep their mouth shut? He got me thinking. Here’s the list I’ve compiled in case you know anyone else in that category: Shepherd, 

Night Custodian, Long-distance Truck Driver, Beekeeper, Fire Tower Watcher, Computer coder, Dog Walker, Gardener, Welder. 

And then it hit me: Blogger. Wait, there’s one more: Lab tech!

          Have you subscribed, yet? Just think—a weekly peek into Joniopolis for free! 
 

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All in Vein

          Folks, I just had an ultrasound and I can tell the gender! For those of you who think I could be pregnant, THANK  YOU for thinking I’m young enough. For those of you whose mouths have fallen open in shock (including St. Bob), here’s the skinny:

          I just had my final reconstructive surgery after breast cancer and a mastectomy (all went well, happy with results), but it took A SOLID HOUR to get an IV into my arm. My veins want no part of this. They scoot around, they collapse, and they finally play dead like an opossum.

          First, the nurse takes a stab—pun intended—at this goal. When that doesn’t work, she tries another spot. Then another. Finally she brings in a vein-finder machine and an additional person. Another swing and a miss.

          Eventually an ultra-sound machine is wheeled in, complete with gel. Now a new technician stares at the screen as he feels around in my arm with a needle, looking for a vein that will allow the storm troopers to breach the castle wall.  And, finally, it works.

          I told him if he sees a baby in there kicking around, there’s going to be trouble. Oh, and my gender is unchanged.

          However, my arm now looks like a new bakery item: Eggplant Muffins. Sure, they’ll probably taste weird, but the dark purple splotches definitely grab the eye.

          Meanwhile, how about we add a new category for the Olympics: Getting a needle into Joni’s veins? Although I’m not sure I want to volunteer for this.

The best thing to do when recuperating (or just self- isolating) is to read a great book. Find my faves right here!

A Vile Situation

          Can I please be in the Vial Olympics? I don’t expect to be in the real ones. Heck, I doubt they’d even give someone this unathletic a seat on the back row.

          But blood samples I got.  At my last lab appointment, this is what I saw waiting for me on the table:

          That’s right. SEVENTEEN vials to fill. Have you ever heard of such a collection? There should be several gold medals hanging around my neck right now. Although I’d probably be too weak to support them and they’d pull me down onto the floor.

          It’s not that I don’t appreciate thorough testing.  It’s that I start to wonder if this sort of thing could be sponsored by the transfusion center. And how can you get an accurate reading of anemia if you withdraw all your blood? (Yes, I came out anemic.)

          Seriously, doesn’t this make you want to start humming that old “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” song, only with the lyrics, “99 vials of blood on the wall”?

          Among the many tests we ran, one was for my Vitamin B-12 count. You’ll like this.  The normal range is from 211 to 911 pg/mL.  Guess what mine was?

                                       5,353

That’s right. Five THOUSAND something.  And I don’t get a gold medal for this? I say it’s just time to end all the vial-ence.

Time to check out my short Youtube Mom life hack videos, too, before I keel over.