I mentioned how yesterday’s appointment revealed a missing HIV test. Now, I could have opted to waive the test, since even if they didn’t actually run the test at 8 weeks like I think they did, I had it done as part of the screening to come to Japan last fall. But whatever, it’s just a quick prick in the arm and no big deal to get it done yet again; and after all, it’s always good news when you hear that you don’t have HIV. Silly me, though, for thinking that I could run in to the clinic’s lab before work today, get the blood drawn, and be on my way – maybe even with time to stop for a (small) coffee. (Don’t judge, I am very sleepy in the mornings… and also in the afternoons and evenings.)
You have to take a number at the clinic’s lab, like it’s a deli counter or something. When I got there, 20 minutes before my shift started, they were serving #22 and I pulled #23, so, no problem at all. I mean, all they have to do is look me up on the computer, print the label for the tube, poke me in the arm, and I can go trotting along – should take 5 minutes! Right?
Silly, silly, naive me! See, the quickness of this process is totally contingent on THE TEST ACTUALLY GETTING ORDERED by the doctor yesterday.
Which, of course, it was not. The poor lab tech had to go wandering around the building looking for somebody to verify that I in fact was supposed to be getting my blood taken out of my arm to test for a horrible disease I know I don’t have. And you know these people are never in their offices. As I sat in the lab chair with the funny padded arm, watching the clock tick toward work-time, I realized that he took my ID with him – so it wasn’t like I could just leave, if he didn’t come back promptly. He finally returned with 7 minutes to spare, bringing with him the new pregnant-ladies’-nurse, who wanted to ask me a bunch of questions. Among them, for the third time, whether I’m planning to deliver locally or go up to the big faraway base hospital. (Lady! You, yourself, called me on the phone last week just to ask me this question! And you also asked when I was here for my 16-week appointment! The answer hasn’t changed!! Write-it-the-fuck-down!)
Finally the lab tech stabbed me in the arm (and it hurt), and I was less than ten minutes late for work, and I’m 99.99% certain I don’t have HIV anyway, and the clinic is as always a miserable, disappointing place. The end.