Fasting? Check!
Arriving early for blood work? Check!
Kid at the babysitters? Check!
Phone charged? Check!
Toothpicks to keep my eyes open? Check! Check!
9 am. The time small birds chirp, in the early morning. I was not listening to the sweet melodies of song birds. I was waiting in a lineup of people, waiting to be poked and prodded.
“Number 216”, the lady on the speaker called. Only twelve people ahead of me. Oh goodie. Most of the lab rats sat in chairs watching their phone screens, while I stood, leaning against a wall. ‘Cops’ was on the TV, the only screen in the vicinity. A couple’s dispute. A drug bust. A speeder. Time ticked by so slowly. One person left the hall containing the lab rooms.
“Number 217”
It was taking an average of 15-20 minutes per person to have their blood taken. Must be only one lab tech working today, I trolled. My blood work papers were getting uncomfortable in my hands.
I looked at them, reading what the specialist had ordered. In the second line of the form, it asked for a cause to have blood taken, and mine read, ‘PCOS and infertility’. INFERTILITY screamed back at me. I could hear my heart stop ticking. I was now classified under barren. This is how I would be acknowledged in the medical field: The 27 year old diagnosed with infertility.
The thoughts swirled, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling up. I was infertile. Making a baby was now up to a specialist, drugs, and God.
“Number 218”
An elderly lady slowly made her way to the nearest room in the hallway.
“Number 219”
Oh my lanta! The process was speeding up! More people began crawling in to wait in the monstrous line. A mother and her newborn walked in. Oh great, I tried to steer my eyes to anywhere else. Just what I needed to be reminded of, at this moment. I was most likely the only sterile person here.
Tick tock…tick tock… What the hell was taking so long? Jab a needle in and wala! Impatience seemed to be my virtue. Thanks Dad for that little genetic.
“Number 222”
Holy shit, only 6 more to go! My watch insisted it was 10 am. I had been here one hour, and the line was still growing.
I watched as people tried figuring out the automated registering machine that gave you your number for the lab. It was simplistic in its design, but was frustratingly slow. Just like the lab itself. An old man looked perplexed as he tried to figure out the electronic contraption. To help, or to ignore? The choice was easy. Anything to pass the time.
“Do you need some help?” The man turned to me and smiled with his pearly whites. Definitely dentures, I thought.
“Yes, thank you. Can’t see without my glasses.” The steps were uncomplicated. Hit the ‘Lab’ button, hit the ‘yes’ button and tada! The ticket number was printed.
“Here you go.” I was flashed the dentures again.
“Thank you, young lady.”
I smiled as he wandered to the only unoccupied seat. Guess it was back to leaning against the wall. Time was close to crawling. People ceased to be called, and no one came out of the dreaded rooms. A police officer tackled a suspicious gentleman on the big screen. I looked down at my paperwork again. The word ‘Infertility’ stared back at me and I couldn’t help but cringe.
“Number 227”
One of the lab technicians waited patiently outside of the hall, ready to pounce on their next victim. She was one I had previously, during my miscarriage. I did not want to relive the Déjà vu. Please have another tech for me! I got lucky as another lady got up from her chair and went to a room.
“Number 228”
Yay! I guess that wasn’t quite the right word to use before being stuck with a needle. I slowly lumbered towards the hallway of the blood thieves. A small, petite girl waited for me. Her dirty blond hair piled in some kind of torturous knot on her head. Her glasses framed her face, giving her a young teen appearance. She may have been 21, if a day.
I was led to room 4. It looked sterile enough. Another woman sat in front of a computer, looking up at me. It was more of a cubicle than a room. Tubes lined one wall, next to the chair I was to occupy. The petite blond gestured to the small hook on the wall, where I hung my coat and purse. I readied myself for the unwelcome stab. Sitting down in the dark blue chair, I realized it was somewhat comfy. The color was probably to hide all the blood that has spurt from unsuspecting citizens.
“Hi, can I see your papers?” The computer lady asked.
“Here they are.” I replied.
“Okay. What is your name?”
“Hailie Brown”
“What is your birth date?”
“November 14, 1990”
“When was your last period?”
“Ummm… January 8th”
The petite lady grabbed a couple handfuls of vials. “This enough?” She asked her colleague.
“10 of the orange, 2 red and 2 green.” My head spun. 14 vials? 14!
“Sorry to ask this, but will I survive after so much blood loss?”
They both laughed in unison, and I watched with horror as my right arm was then prepped. A blue band that was tight enough to choke a hungry, hungry hippo? Check! Pokey needle the size of my arm? Check!
“You might feel a pinch,” the young woman spoke as I braced myself for impact.
Nothing. Did she do it already? I finally opened my eyes and looked down. There was no carnage? The lab tech efficiently filled the tubes, while the other printed off labels. I was in shock. No pain? Was that even possible? I looked at the tech with wonderment.
“Could you be my lab person every time?!” I could not give this young woman enough praise. No jabbing the needle in; no tears; not even a pin prick. It was utterly amazing.
“Sure. If I’m around.” She showed her pearly whites. No dentures, I noted. 14 vials were filled and I was bandaged, handed a cup to pee in and instructions, and then promptly kicked out the door.
The Infertile Farmer 