superbadgirl: (Default)
I was so sure yesterday was Thursday.

I tried to donate blood last night, but was rejected for anemia. It also took them three times to find my blood pressure (98/64) and my temp is a full degree high at 98.4. Weirdness all around, though the temp might be because it was super stuffy all day and I did walk to the collection center. Now I actually feel anemic. Tired and urgh. Serves me right to buy baby greens three weeks in a row and not spinach.

Also, I participated in this, but I'll never tell which is mine. Two stories in and I'm already behind in reading. TGFW.:

Posting has started at the [profile] h50_exchange!
This fic exchange features all pairings, ratings, and characters.

H50 Exchange

Posting begins February 28th | Reveals go up March 30th

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superbadgirl: (dean crying)
I survived the gratuitous SPN sexcapades of 2008 )

Anyway.

This is the first episode this year which didn't feel like SPN to me. It was ... flat. Rather uninteresting through most of it.

So it's not that great a note to leave it for nearly two months )

Short story even shorter: this one won't go on my favorites list, but the last five minutes broke me.


Total aside, I missed the bus to make it to the blood bank in time for my appointment after work and had to walk the whole way. It's only a couple miles, but I didn't have my sneakers with me today. The boots I was wearing were not made for walking, that's for dang sure. I have blisters in places I never thought could blister. I hope they subside a bit overnight.

I'm a hurtin' unit.
superbadgirl: (oh noes)
I am starting to think there's no such thing as a quick donation. First they had to run my numbers twice. This wasn't terrible. I got two fingers poked instead of one, but it's much less painful now than it used to be. The second guy was slower than friggin' molasses, though. Of course, he was the one to lead me out into the main area and would do the actual poking and stuff.

It took him ten minutes to get everything set up. He found my vein twice. Wandered away. Found the vein again. Scrubbed my arm with the stuff my chart clearly says I'm allergic to. Found the vein AGAIN. Stuck me. Missed the vein. KEPT MISSING THE VEIN FOR FIVE MINUTES, by which time it really started to hurt. I told him so. He called for assistance. Too late. Bruising and swelling.

Removed needle and wandered away to re-needle my collection bags. That took about ten minutes. Finally put a bandaid on the original wound. Moved to the other side, and began the process anew. It went a little more quickly this time, but not much. Scrubbed my OTHER arm with the stuff my chart clearly says I'm allergic to. I know, I should have said something after the first one, but holy shit - DO YOUR JOB, DUDE! This time, the needle went in smoothly. No pain in that arm. Huzzah, drinks all around!

The original arm still hurts.

After I pumped out the blood (very quickly, for someone had to move with alacrity), he wandered away and left me unbandaged for another ten minutes. Eight minutes in, he rushed back and asked me if I was allergic to the stuff it says I'm allergic to on my chart. Made a big show of checking my left arm, which has had no reaction. (Because that whole thing stemmed from the phlebotomist who didn't scrub my arm at all a few months back. They're the ones who chose to believe it was an allergy instead of me being truthful.) Removed that band-aid, replaced it, wandered away and at long last came back to give me a bandage for my other arm. He kept apologizing, only serving to annoy me even more.

Goddamn, is that not ridiculous?

On the plus side, Ms. Sunny Sunshine Phlebotomist was talking about some song on the radio I didn't recognize. I said I was too old for that shit. She asked me my age. I didn't lie. She did, though, saying she would have guessed 26. Bless her heart. I'm embarrassed that lie always works on me. I presume it's a lie, anyway, though it comes off more genuine from another woman for some reason.

Now I have to go watch the clock while I wait for 9 PM, hoping all the while my left arm does not fall off. I hate being on the west coast sometimes. ;)

*sigh*

Jan. 28th, 2008 02:47 pm
superbadgirl: (Default)
So I reported the phlebotomist who didn't swab me, and now it's being implied that the reaction I have on my arm is from the alcohol she clearly used when she swabbed me.

Is it possible I somehow blanked right on over the icy coldness of rubbing alcohol (I think that's what they use now) on my skin for that painful minute? I really hate that part of donating. I suppose it is, but I really don't think so. Also, I've never before had a reaction to rubbing alcohol, which I know doesn't say much since reactions can seem to come and go on whim. The injection site started itching the moment the needle plunged into my skin - I don't know if that's a case for an alcohol reaction or not.

Anyway I'm now left doubting the validity of my own claim. I feel like I've accused someone of something and at trial it's somehow all turned around on me, like I committed the crime, or simply asked for it. And I regret reporting her ass.
superbadgirl: (gashlycrumb tinies)
I've come to realize that the older I get, the more paranoid I am about germs. Not basic stuff. I really don't believe we need to have antibacterial everything (regular soap works for me, yo), so it's not that kind of germ that freaks me out.

Examples of what I mean:

I have my own glass and coffee mug (and spoon) at work, and I hand wash all of them every day. Sometimes more than once. The thought of them being stuck in the dishwasher with everyone else's filthy stuff makes me unsettled.

No, sorry, if you extend your handful of M&Ms to share, I will not partake. I won't even partake of M&Ms in a bowl on your desk. Goodness knows how many grubby hands have already fished around in there. I don't do well at potlucks.

I use a paper towel when I open and close public bathroom doors.



You get the idea. Nothing totally Howard Hughes or anything, but other people are SO gross sometimes.

This leads me to the actual point of this post. Last night, I donated blood. I have had issues with the phlebotomists at the central Seattle location before. This woman, though...she didn't swab me! She was in such a hurry, I think, because someone she knew was outside in the waiting room. She wanted to stick me and go rush to chitter chat with him, and so she didn't prep me at all. I didn't even realize it until after she had already left, just had a "whoa, that was fast" feeling.

Now, I know that everything's sterile there. I'm not seriously concerned that the needle would cause me any sort of problem. Not really. Except that it kept me awake last night. I kept thinking about how she skipped that rather crucial step, and then my arm started to itch and the idea gnawed away at the back of my mind.

Mostly I think I'm just irritated that she was so intent on getting to someone else that she did a half-arsed job on me.
superbadgirl: (andrew)
I mean that literally. They were soooooo slow tonight. Not like I had anywhere else to be, and had no other appointments...it's just annoying to sit around waiting for something that only takes 4 minutes.

On the plus side, my blood pressure was just right and my resting heart rate was 56. Yay!

The bus smelled more like pee than usual, prolly because it was a downtown bus. The free ride zone always gunges things up with the transients hopping on and off at will.

Now I'm more tired and headachey than I was when I got up (After another losing argument with my alarm clock. I'm in SUCH a hate/hate relationship with that thing.), so I'm going to go be a baby on the loveseat now.

PS, whereas the commercial for Raisin Bran Crunch cereal with the annoying guy who kept getting fired and didn't know it because he was crunching so loudly is humorous, the guy in the Campbell's soup-in-can commercials is creepy and not humorous at all.

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