You don't speak English and you're going to put that needle where? Come again? I'm not sure I understood you. Actually wait, I am absolutely positive I didn't understand you. Get the hell away from me now! Comprende?
Last week I took my glucose test. For those of you not familiar with the intricacies of pre-natal care, at around 28 weeks they give you a test to make sure your body is processing sugar correctly and that you don't have gestational diabetes. Which is a type of diabetes you can contract while pregnant but it will go away once the baby has made its joyful entrance into the world.
So I went to the lab at our lovely small town hospital. I used to freak out about these kinds of things but this being my third rodeo so to speak, I can stay pretty calm now. I get back there and right off the bat notice that the girl wielding the needle is young, nervous, and Hispanic. Her being Hispanic had nothing to do with my apprehension. The fact that her English was next to non-existent had everything to do with it. Oh yeah, and her trembling hands that were prodding my arm searching in vain for a vein. She pokes, and thumps, and mumbles. Looks around frantically for someone to aid her. Its then that I notice her ID card that identifies her as student. Fuck! I politely ask for someone who knows what in the hell they are doing. See I know that I don't have the best veins. I've been given an IV or two in my day and it is not an easy task. So we get an actual professional (hahahaha, sorry involuntarily laughing at the term) to do it. She punctures the skin and can't find it.
"Ouch, its burning, shit it hurts, fuck would you please remove that dagger from my arm!"
"Oh well", she says, "we'll try your hand. You've got some nice fat veins there."
Good idea, genius. Try and hit one you can actually see this time. Her first attempt was equivalent to that of a drunk man trying to hit the hole in the dark. Pathetic and way off mark.
Aha! Eureka! We have blood. Okay, once that's over you are forced to drink a bottle of the nastiest tasting Sprite (ahem I mean glucose) ever produced. I can handle that without puking...almost. Wait an hour. Then another session with the Vampiric Blood Drawing Techs. One who may or may not speak English. It's still a bit unclear at this point. I sit back down in the chair and once again she is alone. She looks a little more confident this time so I decide, why not, lets give the kid a shot. She shoots, she scores! Blood is drawn, one tiny drop out of a whole vial is placed on a monitor for results, and conversation ensues between her and another Hispanic tech. Conversation that is not in my native language. Where did the white girl go? You know, the one who used my arm as a pincushion? I ask if I passed. Heads nod and one says haltingly..."Yes...good job." Huh, like I studied for it or something.
So I leave, a little holier than when I went in. I am happy. No three hour glucose test for me.
Fast forward to yesterday and my regular doctor appointment. Formalities aside...nope, no bleeding. Only two pounds gained. Awesome. Great heartbeat. Active little thing huh?
By the way. You failed your glucose test big time. You'll have to go back for the three hour panel. Sorry.
You are shitting me! Lying little non English speaking.....insert many more obscenities here to get the point.
So now, next Monday will be spent having my blood draw not two, but four times in one morning and drinking not a liter but a half gallon of glucose. Yippee. Can't you tell how much I am looking forward to it. Do you think they will call me a racist bitch when I request that only an English speaking, non-student come near me? Oh well, it's my right as an American citizen to make that choice. Press 1 for English, 2 for Spanish.