Botched

There's nothing worse than receiving a call from the lab that performed your bloodwork and the first sentence from the person on the other line is, "there's a problem."

Your heart drops. You immediately start thinking that you are suffering from some terrible infectious disease. And in my case - that there's SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE BABY!

No.

The problem was the lab made a "human error." Something about mislabeling the 8 vials of blood that they robbed from me earlier in the week. Whatever. We all have bad days and make mistakes. I agreed to come in again and have a complete redraw. It's pretty incredible, actually, that I didn't stick it to them because I do have a big fear of needles - big. Like cannot look at them, must move my feet about while being pricked to try to keep my mind off of what's happening. I am a big baby when it comes to this. So, I was quite impressed with myself that I handled the situation so well.

So, I walk into the lab today, check in and bam. Problem. No orders for any bloodwork in "the system." Tap, tap, tap goes the lady on her keyboard. Frown. Nope - not seeing anything. So, I explain what happened and she nods with a very confused look on her face and then she asks me to take a seat while she calls...someone. They then quickly take me back, examine my arms noting that I have a hum-dinger of a bruise from my draw on Monday, and the nice phlebotomist opts for the other arm. She takes one vial and I raise my eyebrows a bit and explain, "Hmm. They told me they needed a complete redraw and they took like 8 vials last time plus a urine sample, are you sure that's all you need?" She says, "I don't know." Not something you want to hear while someone is sticking you with a needle in the arm. After she pulls out, she has me apply pressure to my wee wound as she tracks down the lab supervisor to try to get to the bottom of all this weirdness. The supervisor and the tech both come racing out with concerned looks on their faces. My heart drops again. Incredibly apologetically, they explain that yes, they do need to take all eight vials, plus a new pee sample and that the little vial of blood that they just robbed from me is null and void - thanks for playing.

My pregnancy hormones kick in and I well up with tears.

They apologize again and again and rub my shoulder and give me the old, "cheer up camper" attitude as they search for another vein. In vain. Because I've got nothin'. They have to go into my badly bruised arm to the same vein they took blood from on Monday.

And tears again.

So, with a painful poke, my feet start tapping as I choke back tears and try to distract myself. 8 vials later, they bandage me up, apologize again, hand me my coat and tell me I'm free to go.

I haul ass out of there. The cold air on my face helped me to pull myself together enough to get into the car and pull out of the parking lot. I'm contemplating picking up the phone to relate the story of my woes to my husband when I realize, "We didn't do the urine sample."

God Damn IT!

I make a u-turn, drive back to the clinic, park, walk my nauseous, pregnant ass back down to the lab to encounter someone I've never seen before only to have to explain the whole damn thing to her.

ARGH!

Eventually someone who has a clue comes out and greets me with a cup. I dash to the bathroom and leave my sample.

You have got to be kidding me. I hope that this is the worst of what I'll encounter in terms of human errors and inconsistencies during this pregnancy. The science alone is scary enough, but to throw fuck-ups in there. I just don't have the strength.

31 weeks, 3 days and counting...