Making new blood stories

Necking on the arm

“You are the vampire on duty today?” She laughed and called me cheeky, this being after I had seen my consultant for my biannual consultation which passed quite without event. Though I did fill in a survey for the registrar that saw me, who I did meet on my last visit, nothing memorable stands out from our conversation and it probably was the shortest engagement I have had in years.

Given the opportunity to ask questions, I had no inclination at all, beyond the cheerful greetings and recognition at the reception, the weighing-in, height measurement, and blood pressure readings were a rather perfunctory exercise.

Our man the hands like shovels was nowhere to be seen as I drank as much water as I could ingest through the night into the morning to ensure when the needle was coming for the vein, there was something to give. After giving up a urine sample, I sat and waited to be called into the treatment room where the nurse was taking blood for testing.

Cheeky and Swiss cheese arms

Presenting my left arm, she felt for a vein and then punctured my skin, I watched every action without being squeamish, but nothing came, it was dry and unyielding, and it was not Nicholas doing it. Then as she suggested trying my right arm, I could see a vein presenting quite boldly as I completed her statement about if she could not draw blood, “You’ll sink your fangs into me?”, I retorted.

The punishment for my precociousness was subtle, as she put a folded gauze staunch on the first needle puncture and applied enough tape that it almost rounded my arm catching the hairiest parts of my arm in the process. I knew the peeling off would be gritted teeth and some agony if I could be man enough to do it today or allow it to wear off over days.

The right arm initially did not come to play, but soon enough it gave in before desperate measures were needed. I am always surprised at the darkness of the colour of blood as it feeds and fills the vials. In no time, 7 vials were filled with blood.

Could we be better armed?

Yet, between the Netherlands and the UK, I am still surprised at the difference in the art of phlebotomy. Dutch hospitals insert a needle attached to a tube that feeds the vials, whereas here, there is no flexibility between the needle and the vial, which means the patient can easily be irritated and bruised by holding the needle in place and the action of attaching each vial. I should not have to write a novella about my many experiences of having blood extracted.

How I wish the Theranos experiment of Elizabeth Holmes had worked where their dream was to be able to conduct all blood assays from a single drop. Then I could not get a drop from my finger when I tried a home test kit some months ago. I believe Theranos was a good idea long before the means and technology were available. Maybe in a century, blood tests would be as easy as having a light spectrum impacting on the skin like we have with smartwatch pulse oximetry that records peripheral oxygen saturation (SpO₂)

I received my prescription all sealed up only to realise when I got home that a second essential one has not been dispensed. The pharmacy was quite helpful in facilitating it and I shall pick it up tomorrow. The other parts of the day included an induction to volunteer as a welcomer to the cathedral. I have a bit of bedtime reading on church history to do.

Now, I think about it, how that I am always inspired to write something interesting about having blood taken for tests.

The message of the massage

Rubbing and drubbing

For years, I have endured and suffered a niggling pain in my right shoulder blade, it has not been too uncomfortable, but I only had to swing my arm in a certain way to feel that sudden stab of pain that made you either gasp or groan.

However, recently, my waking moments have had that pain arrest my attention that no amount of posturing and stretching alleviated, I was beginning to accept it as a norm.

Last night, I decided to do something about it and I went online searching for locations offering deep tissue massages, but after reading up a bit about it and conjuring in my mind the idea that a 'no-hands massage' meant I could be both be elbowed and kneed in certain delicate places, I decided on the more common Swedish massage.

That muscle from another

I have had massages before, but I was more interested in the professional angle of things rather than those that purported to offer a happy ending. I settled on one that offered sports massages called My Sports Injury with the view they’ll probably know more about muscles and what to do.

Making an early appointment for 8:30 AM and paying through PayPal, I made for the clinic and met up with Ray, the therapist who was outside and probably waiting for me. Friendly and nice, he introduced himself and took me into the basement gym that had the therapy rooms.

I filled in a few forms about my health and regions where I was having muscular pain, the particular muscle I was told was the rhomboid muscles that connect up to the upper end of the vertebral column.

Stripping down to my underwear with my socks kept on, I lay face down on the massage table and as he moved my arms, I felt that stab of pain again, he provided some additional support for my arms and began to rub and knead my muscles.

Pins and needles

In our earlier consultation, he talked about acupuncture and I related an experience when I accompanied a friend to see his acupuncturist. Each needle being tapped into his back was exaggerated in my mind as a re-enactment of the crucifixion, big crooked nails being hammered into flesh with humongous mallets. That impression kept me off accessing this ancient Chinese therapy for my muscle pains.

He worked my shoulders down to my lower back before he suggested acupuncture to ease the tension in my upper back, he assured me it would not be painful. Meanwhile, he had also done some deep tissue massage that did not involve being kneed or elbowed, I was beginning to trust him.

So, I let him put in the first needle, a bit of a tinge, but no pain, and before I knew it there were 6 needles in my upper back. Then working on my lower back, he tapped in another few needles into my back and at final count, there were 16 needles in my body. All the while, we were talking about life experiences and how to approach issues, he was a listening and interested therapist.

Cups and mats

I had pictures taken of the needles because being subjected to the acupuncture therapy has never been something I would have considered ever, and here I was the literal semblance of a voodoo doll, only that I was both the doll and the target. Working down to my legs, he introduced suction cups to my calves before removing the needles, offering a final rubdown and then a few exercises on a floor mat.

One must always be open to new experiences and this was both relaxing and rejuvenating, Ray was a consummate professional with an easy and persuasively encouraging bedside manner that eased me into situations I would never have countenanced. I’ll be back for another session, a massage done by those who know what they are doing, is good. The message in the massage is, muscle, shape up.

I would never have thought I would allow this to happen to me, acupuncture, that is a story for a blog to be written later. I feel amazingly good after it. Ray was exceptional, professional and just the best.

A post shared by Akin Akintayo (@instaforakin) on May 27, 2017 at 2:15am PDT

 

Thought Picnic: Blood-letting tales

Telling bloody stories

In just over two weeks I will return to hospital to see my medical consultant who I last was almost 4 months ago.

As usual, at least two weeks before that meeting I need to go in to give blood to be tested and reveal all sorts of tales about my health, my progress and other physiological things that never cease to amaze me – the stories told by the blood when particular tests are carried out are myriad.

It was always interesting when he refers to liver function, kidney health, cholesterol, platelets and much more, however, the greatest improvement he will notice will be the absence of my cane.

5 vials only

I chose to ride to the hospital in the early afternoon when I thought the crowds will have thinned out and that was the case. The number I got from the ticket queue machine just had two ahead of me.

When I stepped forward to register, the nurse scanned my forms and the printer coughed out 7 labels, starting with my details and then 5 labels for the bloods and the last label signifying the end of the order.

You have to marvel at laser printer technology as the labels are spewed out so nicely printer and in case you did not know, laser is in fact an acronym for Light Amplification by Simulation of Emissive Radiation.

Let me cry and be a woos

I am usually drained of 7 vials of blood, I cannot say why it was two short of the usual, but within 5 minutes of registering I was called in to give blood.

Without much fuss, I presented my left arm, the tourniquet was fastened and with a clenched fist a vein presented itself for the needle whilst I looked away.

Then, the nurse plugged in the vials one after the other and I could not help commenting that the blood looked darker than usual, but she said it was just the right colour, I almost felt like I had received an Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée for my blood, it goes without saying that a bleed does at times look rosier than blood going into a vial.

Soon, it was done, needle removed, cotton wool to seal the prick puncture and masking tape to keep in place. The masking tape will eventually wear and easily fall off because I sometimes just feel too much of a woos to pull off the tape and end up waxing the hairs off my arm – Ouch! Ouch!

A man can only endure so much pain.