Saturday, April 22, 2006

Cramptastically Craptacular

I didn't think it could any worse, I didn't think it could go more wrong.

And it's all because of a tech named YanRay.

(His name has been changed to keep me from having to sit in the Clinic Manager's office explaining why I'm talking about Dialysis outside said walls.)

When I came into Dialysis today, I was told that YanRay would be my tech.

I was firm and concise.

"I refuse."

Two simple words that have incredibly simple power at Dialysis.

"You want me to hook you up?"

"Yes, please."

Traditionally, I get along with most of the staff at Dialysis. Although they possess different levels of competency, overall they're good people and they do their best with the skills they've been given.

Except for YanRay.

He used to be a "cleaner", an individual who deals with all the hoses and filters when one is done with after treatment.

Somehow he was promoted to Full Blown Tech.

They must be desperate for people, I'm not quite sure.

But many, many months ago when I was a Dialysis Newbie, he distracted La Julie when she was trying to dispel with my needles.

She was angry. I wasn't happy.

And I haven't forgotten.

Boy was I fuming.

Unfortunately, there was no one in the lobby because they don't have enough patients on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday's.

Everything was going fine until I had about ten minutes left. I was starting to cramp.

And not your ordinary, run of the mill all-American "I just ran six miles" cramps. The type of cramps where Death would be inviting. The kind of cramps you wouldn't wish on Hitler.

The type of cramps that make me very, very noisy.


That's me trying to keep the pain from scaring all the other poor patients. Kinda like Bruce Willis in "Die Hard" when he's jumping from the explosion.

The new clinic is the size of a Wal-Mart without the happy smiley faces on the walls, so getting someone's attention is nearly impossible.

The original tech that had hooked me up in the first place was busy with his own patients, so I took a gamble and let YanRay take me off.

Big, huge, blockbuster mistake of epic proportions.

He stood there with a blank look on his face, wondering why I was cramping.

Eventually, after much prodding, he adminstered fluid.

Then, and this part you're not going to believe...he walked away.

Let me repeat that for those of you in the back of the blogosphere...HE WALKED AWAY.

At this point, I'm crouched on the floor nearly in the fetal position.

Meanwhile, YanRay is over fiddling with something halfway across the clinic, in no hurry to pick me up from the floor.

It was embarrassing. It was humiliating.

And no one really seemed to care.

I finally righted myself back into the chair and I was pissed.

You don't want to get me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

Firmly, but holding my temper, I uttered, "Get these needles out NOW."

I made my way out of the clinic and found no one in the lobby. They had all gone home.

You may believe this to be the end of this frightfully true story, but it's not.

It get more embarrassing.

I went back to work (although I had no energy to complete my duties) and went into the studio to add the new music for the week.

I felt something under my sweatshirt arm, cool and wet.

It was blood. It was mine. And it was EVERYWHERE.

I ran to the bathroom in the hallway to grab as many paper towels as I could to stop the bleeding, but it was too intense.

I must've used half a roll as I scampered down the hallway. I knew C and K, two of our lovely sales exec's, were still in-house, so I asked for their help.

Before I could finish my first sentence, the First Aid kit from the lobby was open and my arm was getting wrapped.

I love those two. They're the best.

And yes, they both have short hair.

But I'm getting distracted.

My arm looks like it has a tourniquet around it, but I don't care.

I'm still alive. I'm still here.

And yes, I'm still pissed.

Before I'm hooked up on Thursday, I will make it vividly clear that YanRay is not allowed to even touch my machine.

The funniest part of this whole experience is, I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS REFUSED TO BE HOOKED UP BY HIM.

Sorry. But I wanted to make my point perfectly clear.

Dialysis is traumatizing enough. I don't need some two bit tech adding to my pain.

I do that to myself enough on my own.

1 comment:

  1. A turd like that has no business even scrubbing the floors in a medical building. Someone needs to strap him in a chair for 4 hours and let him feel what it is like on the other side of that needle.

    I have had nurses which were quite like that. Not with kidney problems but with my pancreatitis and spinal fusion and brittle diabetes stuff. I curse them all under my breath.