I had some preoperative lab work done on Monday. The phlebotomist was awful. I mean awful. She stuck me repeatedly to obtain three tubes of blood. She left me very sore and bruised in three separate locations.
After the umpteenth time of redirecting her needle, I lost my shit. Insisting she needed a pregnancy test on a very non pregnant person, I kindly asked her to either get someone else or I was going to do it myself.
She looked mortified.
You see when I’m not blogging or hanging with my family, I’m working my ass off as a certified veterinary technician, a veterinary nurse if you will, and an office manager of an animal hospital.
And I rock at placing intravenous catheters.
3 week old kittens? Done.
Bunny wabbits? You betcha!
Almost dead, dehydrated, neglected cats? Yup.
Big dog, little dog, tiny wittle puppies? Uh huh.
With one eye, in the dark, hand behind my back, it’s in.
99.9999% of the time.
I’m that good.
I see the vein. I am the vein.
I can really stick it to your pets.
You have no idea how aggravating it is to be a human pin cushion when my veins are 5 times the size of a ferret.
Sure, we all have bad days. In my line of work it’s called “three strikes and you’re out”. You get three pokes. Three pokes and you’re done. You don’t get to use every viable vein on the animal just to get a sample.
You get help.
Because a hematoma hurts for fucks sake. So does phlebitis. And animals don’t deserve pain.
And neither do I.
Now, who’s the lucky person who gets to poke me on Friday?
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