Sunday, December 7, 2008

Boris Never Misses

As we prepare to be parents, we're also plowing through our "to-do" list of grown-up responsibilities. Like making sure we have life-insurance policies. Thankfully, my dear father-in-law works in the insurance business, and is helping us to set up what we need. My husband (the responsible planner) has had a policy for ages. Myself however, (the irresponsible procrastinator) just turned 30 and could very well have died for free.

Apparently, the life-insurance people are so eager to put money down on how long you'll live, that they can send the nurse to your house to take your blood and your vital signs when you set up your policy. This is what I like to call a Traveling Phlebotomist. I am terrified of having blood drawn, and as Sean learned the last few times he has gone with me, it's for good reason. I have very small, very thin veins. They are not only hard to find, but they have a bad habit of completely collapsing before all of the blood makes it into the tube. Needless to say, this is a stressful process for me. After trying to figure out how I could completely avoid this appointment, I decided that I was just fascinated enough by some random dude coming to draw blood and make me pee in a cup, in my own house no less, that I would make the appointment. I did however remind Sean that there was something very "21 Jumpstreet" about having a strange man with needles and vials come visit you on a Sunday morning.

When I called to make the appointment, I mentioned to the woman that I would need them to bring a butterfly needle, because of my "tiny-vein syndrome". She obliged, and then added, don't worry "Boris never misses". BORIS??!

Boris arrived this morning, 15 minutes early, and our traveling phlebotomist was EXACTLY like his name implies. Late 50's, old-school East-German dude, who grunted questions and was having nothing of our pleasantries. Even when I reminded him that the woman on the phone spoke highly of him. "She said Boris never pressure or anything" I told him. No response. He's tying the tourniquet thing around one arm, then the other, rubbing my veins and trying to decide which one he'll use. He finally moves to the back of my hand (I TOLD you so, people! This is not an easy process for me!) and starts flicking my vein with his finger....very heroin chic. I can already hear the sirens outside, and Johnny Depp at my door. Sean comes over to rub my shoulder and sit with me. "Talk about something to take my mind off of this" I ask him. "Wow, your blood is really thick! It takes forever to fill up a vial!" NOT THAT, please! Something else?! "That needle isn't a butterfly needle, it's a MOSQUITO needle"! NOT funny.

Finally, Boris is finished. He directs me to go pee in a cup (I'm a pro at peeing on's one of the special skills that all pregnant women have). He also took my blood pressure (3 times, alternating arms?). I wasn't going to ask questions. He measured my height, and standing in my socks I was suddenly 5'4"? I have been 5'3" since the 7th grade....but apparently this baby is not only helping me to grow in width (I won't even mention THAT number), but it's helping me to grow in length!

Whew.....cross this "grown-up" task right off the list. Now I'm free to up and die at any moment, and we're covered. Thanks Boris.

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