When Veins Go On Strike.

I went for a blood test today to see how my cholesterol level is responding to my new-found statin habit. I asked the nurse if she would mind using my right arm because my poor old left arm has had enough needles stuck into it over the past two years to last a lifetime. Yes, of course she would… only she couldn’t. No blood was forthcoming. She said she’d have to use the left arm after all.

‘Why is it always me?’ complained my left arm. ‘What with syringes and bloody cannulas I’ve had enough needles stuck into me over the past two years to last a lifetime. What’s wrong with emptying the other arm for a change? See how he likes it.’

‘Sorry old chap,’ I answered apologetically. ‘I’m afraid the other arm is being uncooperative.’ The other arm tittered quietly, but its countenance fell when the left arm also decided to be uncooperative. ‘I’ll have to get Nikki in,’ said the nurse.  Nikki, it seems, was more senior and presumably more experienced.

‘I’ll bet you’re embarrassed,’ I said to her. ‘Yes,’ she answered.

Nikki came in and tried the left arm first, while the dear limb gritted its teeth and declined to be helpful. ‘No,’ said Nikki, ‘I can’t get a sample either.’ The arm looked triumphant while I scowled and asked: ‘Is there something wrong with me?’

‘No,’ said Nikki. ‘It’s just that every time I try to push the needle into a vein, the vein keeps slipping sideways. ‘Can you blame it?’ I asked. ‘I suppose not. I’d better try the right arm again.’ ‘Bugger,’ said the right arm, but decided to come quietly and a syringe full of blood was obtained at last and everybody was happy. Except the arms, of course, which might well sulk with one another for some time yet. The blood, meanwhile, was dark red and looked perfectly relaxed.

‘Will that do?’ I asked hopefully.

‘Yes.’

So I left, wondering just who was the winner in all this.