IV

and I don't mean "4." For the second time in my life, I have lost my composure due to an IV. Luckily, no one was around to see it this time. I can take being poked, prodded, given bad news, pricked, cut, slashed, dinged and donged, but give me a poorly executed IV and I just lose it.

The first time was my last hospital stint. A CAT scan was ordered and time was lacking for oral administration of the dye. So, I had to take it intravenously. Something about the technician bothered me from the beginning. She was aloof and treated me with as much regard as dryer lint. She inserted the shunt and it did not feel "right." I've had IV's before and numerous draws of blood, but this one was different. Something in the way she positioned the shunt did not feel proper and, for reasons I can't explain, it totally unhinged my emotional lockbox. I started to cry, to shake, I felt the overwhelming desire to go home, to get away, I was toddler cornered by an abusive sibling...I could feel the shunt like a tree branch inserted into my arm. It bulged the skin, I was terrified to move my arm. I cried and demanded the test end. The technician simply cocked an eyebrow and ignored me. When I returned to my room, my attending nurse clearly saw my distress and after hearing my tale, marched to the phone at the nurse's station and had a visibly ugly conversation with someone. I can guess who was that someone...

Yesterday was the second time I have been brung low by an IV. Again, the person executing the procedure met with my disapproval. She was the type of nurse that does not listen to you and actively tries to prevent you from speaking. Interrupts, speaks with a condesending tone, treats you as if your illness is a reflection of some personal vice or moral bankruptcy. I had an ill feeling begin to rise within me as I saw her prepare my IV. Everything about it was tinged with "wrong." She swabbed half of my arm with the antiseptic pad, as if afraid she might touch me and contract my taint. Then, she tied the tourniquet and left my area to go and putter with a few things. I was about ready to remove the band when she finally returned. By the time she brought out the needle, I was ready to revisit my liquid diet for the past 2 days.

Sure enough, she botched it. I told her most specifically that the IV was very uncomfortable and she responded that it was properly inserted. With those terse words, she walked away. The area around the shunt was obscenely bloated and turning red. I could feel it with every minor shift of my arm. It might have been "properly inserted" by the book, but not by my personal anatomy. So, there I lay with this abomination shoved under my skin and feeling the sick, scared feeling begin to grow and grow and grow...

I was wheeled from the preparation area into the room where the colonoscopy and gastroscopy were to be performed and left there, alone, surrounded by featureless white walls and walls of cold equipment. Home. I just wanted to go home. The feeling was overwhelming and I found myself saying it aloud. "I Want to Go Home." Over and over...I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. My stomach was sick. I made a game plan in my mind for tearing out the IV and escaping to safety. Alone, alone, alone and scared to death because of a stupid IV. I only pulled myself together when the doctor and nurses came into the room. First, I had people around me and that in and of itself helped. Second, they pumped my sedative into the IV and that took the edge off of everything.

I don't remember much of the procedure or the return to the preparation area for recovery. At some point, though, the door to my brain opened wide and I was fully awake. I flagged down the first nurse that walked by and stated that I wanted to leave. Right then. Get me out of here. Pronto. ASAP. On the double. Chop Chop...I even threatened to start singing. She gave me the pursed lips look that says "You are a pain in the ass, but it seems like you are purged of sedative," and got the ok from the doctor that I could be released. The joy that welled up in me when she removed the IV from my arm was pure and sweet and large as the sun. I leapt up from the bed and began to grab my clothes from the shelf under the bed. I didn't care if my bare butt was flashing itself to my wardmates. I was headed out of there! I dressed in record time, grabbed another unsuspecting nurse and browbeat him to get my discharge form into my hand and my form out of the door. My ride was waiting and I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief when the medical center was in the rearview mirror of his truck.

No ill effects. No post-procedure complications. Everything was hunky-dory. But, I was still haunted by the spectres of the medical office. I do not know why I am so affected by that one specific thing. One tiny feature of health care done slightly wrong and it shatters my composure like the most fragile crystal goblet. A successful IV and I'm fine. Any number of needles insterted into my form to push something in or pull something out is of no consequence. But, visit this one minute botheration on me and watch me snap. I think I shall take pepper spray to my next outpatient procedure. Screw up my IV at your own peril....