It's almost time to go to the lab and get some bloodwork done. I do hope I can accomplish this small feat without braining someone.
Yesterday I had a minor meltdown when I tried, and failed, to get it done.
I like to think I'm fairly easy-going, and I know there are others who may think the opposite but screw them, they've probably done something to cheese me off and are well-deserving of any fits thrown in their general direction. Still, if you treat me like I'm non-existant, I'm gonna get mad.
Like, if you're the lady in the lab yesterday you totally deserve a hissy fit. Who do you think you are? God? The Man from U.N.C.L.E? Florence Fecking Nightingale?
Anyway, yesterday I headed into the lab for some bloodwork. Requisition in hand, I walked the entire length of the hospital to the lab, because, if you've ever noticed, labs are always in the hiney of any hospital. I guess planners figure emergency departments need to be up front. I barely get the logic, other than that having emerg up front prevents bleeders and vomiters from dripping down the hallway. Oh, and I guess maybe dying people can't be expected to walk that far ...
I got to the lab, requisition and health card at the ready, and handed it to the woman behind the glass window. I am fairly confident it was bulletproof glass for reasons that will become apparent. The woman took my paperwork, glanced at it, then kinda shoved it back into my hand.
"You need to register at the front," she said.
"Sorry," I said, politely. "I didn't know. This is the first time I've been here."
She ignored me. Continued doing whatever she was doing.
I said to Dave, who was with me, "Did you want to wait for me here?"
"No," he said, "I'll come with you."
Away we went, back from whence we came. As we toddled down the long hallway, me with my bad knees, I saw a poster advertising the benefits of walking. Pffft, I thought.
I honestly didn't know you had to register at the hospital's front desk in order to have bloodwork done in the lab. Hey, I was fresh from Ontario, where you go directly to the lab – you don't bother the lady at the front desk unless you need information or you've severed your arm or something. But hey, that was cool. We went back to the front desk and waited in line for what seemed like an eternity as the poor receptionist dealt with complicated problems ahead of us. I shifted from one sore knee to the other, trying my best to be patient as the pain started radiating to my hips.
Finally it was my turn.
The nice receptionist took my paperwork and started to process it, then stopped dead in her tracks.
"I'm sorry," she said. "The lab is closed."
I looked at her like she had two heads.
"But the lady in the lab just sent me here," I protested.
"It closes at 4 o'clock," the receptionist added.
"Really! Seriously?" I said, shocked that the lab lady would send me back to the front of the hospital without even mentioning that she would be closing soon.
"Do I look like I'm joshing?" said the receptionist and I immediately realized I was giving her a hard time, when she didn't deserve one. I lowered my tone and she, very nicely, phoned the lab to see if they, by some miracle stayed open to wait for me.
Alas, the lab was, in fact, closed.
Why, I fumed, didn't she TELL me she was closing? That there really was no point in going back to reception and waiting in line? She might have even pointed out that the lab closes at 4 p.m. and that I left my visit too late in the afternoon. But no. Not a word.
I cursed and swore and mumbled and whined all the way home. Wisely, Dave didn't say a word. About an hour later I wound down but it was still the first thing I thought of this morning.
Now the time has come to go back to the lab. Round two. I'm almost afraid. At least this time I know I have to register first. And I know what time they close. But I'm telling you, if she starts giving me a hard time about anything else, like my health card being from Ontario or my veins misbehaving, it won't be me that gets a needle shoved up my ass.