Big Ol' GrumpyHead

We are not having a good day. (We being me, myself, and I.) Long-time readers of RSR may remember I was scheduled to have some bloodwork done last month, about the same time I had my mammogram. But I ended up rescheduling and went today instead. I was supposed to have blood drawn for a CA-125 test, a lipid profile, and glucose tolerance and insulin levels, with that last one to be repeated two hours later. The lipid profile and glucose thingy are both fasting tests, which meant no breakfast this morning, which I can deal with, and no COFFEE this morning, which, well I had to deal with too, but I wasn't happy about it. So here was the plan. I would roll out of bed, throw some clothes on my unwashed-but-not-overtly-dirty bod, run a comb through my hair, and run pretty much straight from the bed to the car, ignoring the smell of the coffee my dearest darling was so cruelly drinking in front of me. I would drive to the hospital (about 10 miles away) in all my grunginess, and let them draw the first batch of blood, drink the vile, disgusting, putrid potion they make you drink in preparation for the second part of the test, then scurry back to the car to drive home and use the time in between tests to shower, wash and dry my hair, put in my contacts, put on better clothes, etc., and maybe even get to look over email, before driving back to the hospital for Round Two. Good plan, yes? I certainly thought so. The lab staff? Not so much. Turns out that in the year since I last had this stuff done they've instituted a new policy that if you're having the glucose tolerance thing done, you aren't allowed to leave the hospital during the wait time. If you do, they won't finish the test and you have to start over another day. Thank GOD I rarely go anywhere without a book in my purse!!! So there I sat, for two LONG hours, in an noisy waiting room with uncomfortable chairs and bad lighting, and me with stringy hair, no contacts, no shower, no breakfast, and NO DAMN COFFEE, trying to read. We were not amused. And to make it even more fun, the little girl drawing the blood, while very nice, was all-too-obviously new at it and I don't have easy-access veins. So she dribbled a few drops into the vial with the first stick and then couldn't get any more. She called for help. The other girl stuck the other arm and got enough for what they needed for Round One, but left a half-dollar sized bruise that has turned a lovely eggplant shade. When I went back in after two hours, they drew more from the bruised arm, told me I could go, then chased me out into the parking lot to tell me they had "used the wrong type of vial" and had to do it again. Oh. My. God. So, yeah...I now have a total of 4 stick-marks, 2 on each arm, all sore. I am feeling whiny and put upon and I'm going to eat a piece of chocolate now. Hmph.