It's a good thing I don't mind needles...

It's been over a month now since I last had blood drawn, and I still have purple/green bruises on top of my right hand and in the crook of my right arm, where the perky, red-headed phlebotomist jabbed in her needle.

Apparently, my veins are tricky. Normally it takes a couple of tries to get blood. Often, the phlebotomist will give me a warm towel or hot pack to hold over the site so they can have better luck. What they don't normally do, is start thrusting the needle in and out in hopes of getting blood, like this girl did. Or stick the needle in, and then sweep it around like the hands of a clock.

At this point, I start bleeding. Bleeding quite a bit. This is not that unusual either; in their zeal to find the vein, they usually end up scratching or poking or bruising something, and then I bleed. Usually, the nurse just gives me a piece of gauze, and that's that.

Instead, the phlebotomist lets loose a string of "damn it! shit!" under her breath, and scrambles around the tiny room.

Blood pools on my arm.

She finally finds a piece of gauze, fumbles it onto me, and I hold it down. Then she goes to try the top of my hand.

She does the needle-thrusting and sweeping once more, but with better results this time.

The gauze on my arm soaks through. She seems startled, and finds another one.

She tapes the new gauze on my arm, gives me a new one for my hand, and sends me on my way.