Drawing Blood with a Crayon

This post talks about blood, so please take the time you may need to approach reading this article!

In childhood, the color red surfaces in bold firetrucks, a hexagonal stop sign, a juicy watermelon, and perhaps a red rooster (if you were like me and believed the flourishing simple farms of early American history still existed). However, our more intimate connection to the color red is the color of blood. Often described as ‘blood red’, we encounter a miraculous phenomenon when we scrape a knee or elbow, this red viscous, but thin, substance would flow out of our body.

I had fear as a child that we had a fixed amount of blood in our bodies. I thought that losing blood meant I could never gain more, having the understanding that once you run out of blood, you die. This probably wasn’t helped by my early fascination with crime shows, when the actors said the victim “bleed out”. To this day, my conditioning of a fixed amount of blood continues to cross my mind each time I experience the so-called “loss of blood”.

As we grow up, the blood becomes something of a magical phenomenon. Whenever I had a scrape, my parents would allow me to choose from an assortment of band-aids to cover up my ‘wound’. I was happy when there were Spongebob ones, and of course, my favorite, Scooby-Doo band-aids. Then, after a couple of days, when the band-aid was removed, the blood had all but disappeared and absorbed in the band-aid. All was well.

In our biology class, we learn about what blood does, and how important it is to our body. In abstract terms, we talk about oxygen molecules hitching a ride on our red blood cells to our lungs and somehow we release carbon dioxide into the air. In my privilege of attending university, I have taken a whole new appreciation for blood. I looked at the processes of circulation and gas exchange in my anatomy & physiology class. I analyzed the chemical arrangement of oxygen in heme during organic chemistry. I learned about disorders and diseases of the blood in public health that impact millions around the globe.

Even so, the red of blood still scared me.

With more frequent blood draws required for my Crohn’s disease management, I have found myself becoming familiar with a short walk to Rogel Cancer Center, where I typically go for blood drawing services.

Those who have experiences with multiple doctor visits and medical procedures might have a routine they practice to ensure the best possible experience. I have a regiment for each time I go to draw blood. This process is distinct from having an IV in, and is less involved. Today, I will walk you through one of my blood draw visits.

On a typical cloudy spring afternoon in Michigan, I walked over the Rogel Cancer Center. I entered the building and showed them the green check of health. I was given a sticker with the date, identifying I was safe to be in the hospital. There was a longer than usual line to be checked in for a blood draw. I approached the counter, telling them my information. I was handed a number. Today, the number was 140. I waited for 10 minutes.

The phlebologist, the person who draws blood, stood at the open doors and called my number. I recognized her. On my first visit to the Rogel Cancer Center, she accompanied another phlebologist during her downtime and chatted with me. I was happy to have her. We walked to the back of the room. I sat down, and we started a conversation immediately. She made great eye contact and I could feel her joy radiating from beneath her mask.

From past history, I always fear my ophthalmologist taking my blood will be silent. This typically results in nausea because my attention is focused on the blood leaving my body. Our first conversation was about the ‘wonderful’ Michigan, where the day before there was snow, rain, and sunshine. We discussed how although we had lived in Michigan our entire life, we still are shocked when spring comes.

She asked what arm I preferred. Even though I had to position myself at an awkward angle to draw from the left arm, she didn’t mind. She let me choose which color gauze as if I were a young child, I was delighted. She provided me with interaction with clift, knowing I was nervous.

We talked about exploring places in Michigan. We both visited Traverse City in 2020 for the first time, despite, again, living here our entire lives. She mentioned her Dad lived in England and spent most of her summers overseas.

I was carried aware by her grace and kindness.

I had a nice phlebologist that day.