Needles & I

Needles and I, we were once acquaintances.

Back when I was a child, I am exposed to injections a lot. My dad always make sure that me and my sisters are given maximum preventive medication, which includes every darn vaccination available for kids. This mean that every now and then, we have to line up in our living room after dinner to get jabbed.

Back in primary school, we all have to take the dreaded compulsory BCG (tuberculin) vaccination test. While everyone else were desperately trying to whack their Mandoux test swelling so that it crosses the 6mm mark (anything less you need to take the BCG injection), I was the first in line for my vaccination.

It’s not that I enjoy needles – I’m not a masochist for pain – but I do know that they are a necessary evil. I call them my ‘acquaintance’ because I acknowledge their existence and try not to avoid them. This also mean that if I have to come into contact, I want the meeting to be as short as possible. That’s why when I’m getting inked, I always reject my tattooist’s offer to stop for cigarette breaks. ”Please let’s just faster get it over and done with,” I plead.

This morning has got to be my worst needle experience. Ever.

It is my annual health screening at Raffles Hospital and they needed 8ml of blood from me. The young nurse was desperately looking for a vein to pop. She said that I am too dehydrated (they didn’t tell me that to “fast 8 hrs before your appointment” doesn’t mean I cannot drink a single drop of water). Tapping the back of my elbows, she say she will try her best. She went for it. Let me rephrase, she ‘dug’ for it.

No blood.

When she pulled the needle out a full 5 minutes of searching later, my eyes were already glazed over. She said that she needs to get her ‘sensei’.

Madam Sensei is a heavily pregnant Indian senior nurse with a very motherly face. That somewhat assuage my earlier trauma. She examined my outstretched arms and concluded that the situation is not looking good. My veins are too fine and my muscles are covering them. She said she will try the other un-poked arm.

Again, she didn’t just try - she dug. She pushes the needle further and further in search of the moving vein. She caught it and for a couple of seconds, blood started gushing into the syringe. Alas, it was as abrupt as it began. The flow began to slow down to one drop every other second and eventually come to a halt. She tapped and tapped at it. We waited. After a couple more minutes of trying, the skin started turning blue. She have to give up.

We only got 2ml. We needed 6ml more.

She say she will call the Head Nurse. I was assured that Head Nurse is the absolute best in the entire ward. She WILL get the blood out.

Head Nurse is a very pleasant Filipino lady with a very kind voice. She expressed her utmost sympathy at my plight by assuring me that this sort of things do happen sometimes and that I am not a freak. After feeding me with tons of plain water, she examined all the veins on my arms and decided that the one that is VERY close to a tendon have to do. She say there is a risk that the needle might poke the tendon and if so, I will experience extreme pain. If that happens, I need to tell her ASAP. I told her I wouldn’t dream of holding back.

Tightening the velcro strap on my upper arm, she went for it. At this point, I have stopped looking away and was looking directly at the entire operation. She pushed the needle in deep as I clenched and unclenched my fist. No blood. We waited for a couple of seconds. She tried again. Madam Sensei came back in and the two of them started exploring where else could they navigate the needle. At some point, it did hit the tendon and I leapt. The mission has to be aborted.

After three punctured holes, my arms are a sodding mess. I couldn’t even unclench my fist at this point. When the nurses left the room for a minute, I finally relaxed my heroine act and let the tears go. Years of contact with needles, this is the first time I actually cried.

Head Nurse said they have to use their finest needle (called the ‘Butterfly’) to extract blood from the area at the back of my palms. This procedure can only be done by a doctor. With that, I was ushered to another room.

Dr. Benjamin is a very serious man. He examined my swollen arms with a straight poker face which made me very uneasy indeed. He shook his head and look at my fists. He decided on the left hand and asked me to grab the end of his table, palm down. He pull out a big-ass syringe…

“Doctor, the Head Nurse say that you will be using a butterfly needle instead because the veins here are smaller?’ I asked nervously

“If I use anything smaller, I wouldn’t get the blood,” he replied stoically. “By the way, extraction of blood from this area is going to be very painful because there are no muscles here, all nerves. You’ll just have to bear with it.”

Before I could protest, he stuck the needle in.

The pain, my friend, the pain – is indescribable.

Worst part is, big or small needles, it really didn’t matter: THE BLOOD IS JUST NOT COMING OUT!

“You’re too tense,” he concluded. “Come back another day.”

At the Reception, I begged Madam Sensei to try one more time before they call it a day. The thought of coming back for another morning of trauma is just too much for me. She shook her head and said that the doctor has spoken.

Needles and I, have crossed the line from acquaintances to ex-lovers……