Even though it is never exactly a pleasant experience, I remember the last time I had my blood drawn in the US much more fondly now. I rememeber being in my own room, with my own cot in a relaxing environment. I even had my own appointment, just for me, not to be shared with hundreds of other people.
Here?
Well, first of all, HIPAA laws aren't an issue. Privacy definitely isn't a concern here (more stories about that another day); nor is comfort, nor relaxation. No matter what your ailment, everybody is subjected to the same appointments, at the same time of day. All are herded together into a tiny hallway, where they hope to hear their name being called, over all of the hustle and bustle, to know when to finally stand in the line to get their blood drawn.
The appointments start at 8:15, although I can't say I've actually ever seen them start right at that time. In my experience, you are either given an appointment for 8:15, 8:30 or 8:45. This is really just to try to keep less people in the hallway at a time, but usually everyone tends to arrive at the beginning anyways, so it really doesn't help much. This time I was lucky, and had an 8:15 appointment, so I figured I would be amongst the first people to move through. (Still, I would estimate that 50 or so people were called before me). Even having arrived at the earlier time, it was nearly impossible to squeeze into the hallway where, I would estimate between one and two hundred people each day are trying to get as close to the entrance as possible so that they can hear their name being called.
The picture doesn't really do the crowd justice. I was trying to not draw attention to my phone taking the picture, so it was held down too low to be able to really see how many people were actually there. You probably can appreciate, though, that I am a ways away from the entrance- so far that I could barely hear the names being called. This is especially important for me since my name is really rarely ever called, and I have to listen specifically for my last name. (Last time they called out Francie, and when nobody else went, I asked if it might be Tracy- grrrrrr).Anyways, I waited for them to start calling names. Once the process starts, everyone shoves their way through to pick up the paper with the information of what their blood analysis is for, and then they can move to the end of the line. I actually don't look forward to having my name called because I know that it means that I will have to push my way through to try to get my paperwork. That is very difficult for me to do with the way that I was raised. Don't think that everyone is going to kindly move out of the way to let you pass. It just doesn't happen.
Anyways, after about 8-9 minutes of calling name after name after name, my name was called, and I handed over my little sample cup of urine, took my paperwork and stood at the end of the line. The nice thing about them not actually spending time with each individual person, is that the line actually moves quite quickly once you get there.
At the front of the line, you find yourself entering a small, long room that is the size of a typical bedroom hallway, but maybe a little bit wider. A narrow table/bar runs down the center of the room, and the women who are taking blood are on the far side of it. Actually, these last two times (I just had another analysis about a month before I found out I was pregnant) I was surprised to see little bar stools for the patients to sit on, as last time I had to stand throughout the process. Anyways, I squeezed my way through the narrow room to the newly vacant spot. They had to push the people on either side away to be able to push my stool out for me to sit on. So, I squeezed into my spot at the table with the 7-or-so other people all getting blood drawn at the same time, at the same table. Like I said, here there are no HIPAA privacy rules, no need for barriers between patients, no need for confidentiality nor comfort. Those are all unnecessary here where the government has a monopoly when it comes to the control of your medicine, and looks to do things as practically (aka. as cheaply and quickly) as possible. (remember 7 minute appointments?)
In these situations, one must look at the bright side. At least I don't have a condition where I need to be sitting (impossible while waiting in line for your turn), nor did I have to push my way through in a wheelchair or with a stroller (yet!). (I'm not sure a wheelchair would even fit into that room). At least I wasn't sleeping in a cot in the middle of a hallway in the hospital yet, either, which is fairly typical since the hospital doesn't have enough beds for the number of people who actually need them.
Anyways, I was a bit worried when I first sat down because it was obvious to me that the girl who was going to draw my blood was new to the experience. I was a dental student once, and know quite well what other unconfident newbie health professionals look like. The plus side to having a newbie is that you know they will normally take their time and try to be gentle and nice. I have very "easy veins" on my left arm, so I wasn't too worried. She actually found the right place on her first try. Halfway through the experience, the guy next to me left, and the new guy admitted that he faints when having blood drawn (yes we all heard that- no privacy, remember?), so he was escorted to the one little cot at the end of the room to have his blood drawn while lying down. This was nice for me because it meant I had a little more space to breathe, and a little less claustrophobia. Other than having the needle in my arm for a little longer than I would have liked, I was actually happy that I had been "stuck" with the newbie because she was very pleasant throughout the whole experience. She did have to ask about each vein to the person next to me, etc., etc., which was a little nerve-wracking, but perfectly understandable.
So, it was over.
Until my 2nd trimester screening when I get to fight the crowds again...
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