Wasted Days

'Wasted Days (And Wasted Nights)', song, Freddy Fender, 1974.

Well, that was a day I'll never get back.  Leaving Michael in charge (the cats can't be relied on), I made the trek to town.  As far as I could tell, there was only one other victim in Vampire Hall, so I mistakenly thought this would be a quick in-and-out visit.  I was wrong.  I wasn't inspired with confidence when the sole nurse kept muttering her list of supplies as if she weren't sure of procedure.  Oh goody.  It goes like this:  a quick blood draw to be sent to the lab...and wait for fifteen minutes or so.  I've got good, ropy veins on the outer side so it had surprised me that Nursie Person had chosen veins on the tender inside of my arm, but I don't tell  professionals how to do their job.  The lab was either backed up or had gone to lunch because it took over an hour to get the results.  That's okay, I was there for the duration.  When word finally trickled down, evidently the results were borderline.  There was a conference about whether to do the phlebotomy or not.  The decision was to go for it.  Miss Newbie girded her loins and picked her largest needle...and couldn't get it in the right spot.  Aarrgh and ouch.  She gave up and asked for help.  Another conference and a call to my doctor.  After nearly two hours, the decision was made that I didn't need the procedure and was set free.  I nearly ran for the door.

A quick stop for some shopping and, bruised and battered, I headed home.  Home sweet home!

Stay safe.  Be well.