When I was eighteen, I went to school for nursing. I received a full scholarship and a monthly stipend to cover my expenses while I attended college. My classes were already picked out for each semester, as well as the books that were needed and the amount of time each class would take. It all seemed to fall into place nicely!
At orientation the week before school started, I met with all of my teachers, the faculty and my fellow students for a few hours and learned all about the next few years of my life. During the last portion of orientation, all of the students were taken into a room and asked to watch a nurse draw blood. I thought it was odd that they would show us that during orientation, but I took my place in the front and watched excitedly.
The nurse gave us her standard speech, walking us through the process on how we would draw blood and proceeded to do just that – draw blood. I went pale. I could feel my heart beating in my ears and I worried I was going to pass out. She asked if there were any questions before she demonstrated the process a second time.
I turned and walked out. I was going to be sick. There was no way I would be able to draw blood from anyone, at any point, ever, in my life.
I walked out of nursing school and never looked back. To this day, I turn my head every time I need to have blood drawn.
Today received a phone call to register me for my port placement on Tuesday. After asking the same questions that I have answered at least a dozen times so far, the nice woman on the other line asked me what questions I had for her.
Me: “They’re gonna knock me out for this, right?”
Nice nurse woman: “Excuse me?”
Me: “I won’t be awake for the procedure, right? They’ll put me to sleep and I’ll wake up and it’ll be done?”
Nice nurse woman: “Well, you’ll meet with an anesthesiologist in the morning, along with the doctor.”
Me: “Right. To put me out, right?”
Nice nurse woman: “They’ll drug you enough that you won’t know what’s happening.”
Satisfied with that answer, I hung up. I started to put my phone away and then decided I wanted to reassure myself further by searching the internet.
There were lots of webpages about the ports that I could read but what caught my eye was a YouTube video.
Against my better judgement, I clicked.
I shouldn’t have clicked. I should have stuck to the articles.
It’s not that I didn’t expect to see the blood or the incision or the process; that’s why I clicked on it. What I didn’t expect to see was the guy awake! Talking to the doctor! Who does that?! Of course I couldn’t turn away and I continued to watch the entire 5+ minutes of the video so I could witness the entire process from start to finish. The entire time the doctor worked on the port placement, he talked to the guy, asked him if it hurt or if he felt anything, told him what he was doing, all as if they were chatting over a cup of coffee. The guy seemed totally ok with this interaction.
I have absolutely no interest in that. As a matter of fact, I don’t really want to know it’s happening at all. I much prefer to take a little nap, wake up and be all done. Maybe even sleep in the car ride home, too.
Therefore, I’ve decided I’m demanding to be put under during the process. I’ll let you know how well that works out for me.