Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Clinical Trials
The medical community and I do not get along. It all began in grade school, when the school nurse attempted to prescribe band-aids and aspirin for the rather nasty baseball-batting my head had taken on the playground. One concussion and a differently-shaped skull later, my views of medicine had changed. My subsequent medical encounters included a sports physical that became, in my view, rather too intimate, and some oral surgery that resulted in hours of anaesthesia-induced crying, although I did at least get some ice cream out of that one. In short, I do not believe that putting on white jackets causes people to become magic, and I remain alert for any signs that my physician is drunk, on crack, or a crazed hobo.
This morning, however, my nurse was simply a sadist. Since she knew I didn’t enjoy watching my blood being drawn, she decided to just leave the needle in my arm for a full ten minutes as she gesticulated wildly and clarified how my personal aversion to bloodletting was incorrect. It all made so much sense the way she explained it, yet I must admit that I would probably agree with anything a person sticking an enormous needle into my arm had to say. Once she had completed her harangue, she disinterestedly returned to the business at hand, and then left the room with me still openly bleeding, no doubt off to talk a patient out of disliking jazz or having a heart attack. For my part, I just mopped up and fled. There’s no greater shame than failing your blood test.
The medical community and I do not get along. It all began in grade school, when the school nurse attempted to prescribe band-aids and aspirin for the rather nasty baseball-batting my head had taken on the playground. One concussion and a differently-shaped skull later, my views of medicine had changed. My subsequent medical encounters included a sports physical that became, in my view, rather too intimate, and some oral surgery that resulted in hours of anaesthesia-induced crying, although I did at least get some ice cream out of that one. In short, I do not believe that putting on white jackets causes people to become magic, and I remain alert for any signs that my physician is drunk, on crack, or a crazed hobo.
This morning, however, my nurse was simply a sadist. Since she knew I didn’t enjoy watching my blood being drawn, she decided to just leave the needle in my arm for a full ten minutes as she gesticulated wildly and clarified how my personal aversion to bloodletting was incorrect. It all made so much sense the way she explained it, yet I must admit that I would probably agree with anything a person sticking an enormous needle into my arm had to say. Once she had completed her harangue, she disinterestedly returned to the business at hand, and then left the room with me still openly bleeding, no doubt off to talk a patient out of disliking jazz or having a heart attack. For my part, I just mopped up and fled. There’s no greater shame than failing your blood test.
