Lab Work

I went into the lab early today to get routine blood work done as I did every year due to a family history of thyroid disease and diabetes. The lab was short on workers and long on patients and slow getting started. I stood to allow an older patient to have my seat, and an elderly gentlemen immediately offered me his which I gently refused and told him that I was too jittery to remain seated long (which I was). I was somewhat annoyed as I had been waiting nearly an hour, the room was freezing, the seating was (very) limited and besides that, the entire room was a study in cheap mismatched second-hand furniture and no decor, all in shades of very depressing gray. It was the first time I had been to a Quest Diagnostic lab.

A young boy was there for the second time to get more blood drawn. Apparently the tests his doctors asked for required too much blood to be drawn from him at one time. His earlier paperwork had been lost, and he was getting more and more apprehensive as the lab workers tried to figure out which tests he still needed to have done.

"I need you to be a brave little man, and this won't hurt you a bit," the lab worker lied. The kid wasn't buying it. He'd been there before, and if it wasn't going to hurt, why did he have to be brave? He immediately started screaming "Nooooo, mommy, make them STOP! They're HURTING ME! Noooooooooo!" and then started anguished sobbing. When you're three years old and haven't been able to have any food because these are fasting tests, they can't find your prescription for the blood draw and have no idea what tests you need and then they can't even find your vein, it's hard to find solace in the idea that this is for your own good. It was hard to listen to.

I did a quick check around the waiting area at the other people flinching in response to the small child's cries and saw that they, too, were having to restrain themselves from rushing to his rescue. After failing to get enough blood for the tests from the child after several attempts, he was sent out have some food and to come back tomorrow for another try.

When it was my turn to get jabbed and have my blood taken, I asked where the suckers were.

"We don't have any", I was told.

"You have GOT to be kidding. If somebody is taking my blood, I expect to at LEAST to be given a sucker in return for not screaming. What about Band-Aids? Am I at LEAST going to get a Curious George Band-Aid, although I will take a Dora the Explorer or even better, Brendan Frazier in his George of the Jungle outfit?"

"We don't have Band-Aids, just gauze pads and adhesive tape." Sigh. No wonder the kid was pissed.

The place was unbearably grim and depressing even to a person like me, who actually enjoys walking through barns and stepping in feces. Would it have killed the lab owners to have invested in a few gallons of bright paint from Wal-Mart and maybe some brightly colored posters for the wall, some suckers for kids, and maybe a sticker for bravery with some interesting bandages? I was there just to make sure I was healthy; what about the people that were actually ill? Some pleasant surroundings while they waited wouldn't have hurt a bit.