I went into Room 2 to do an ABG. The guy was an end-stage COPDer, but he wasn’t in any respiratory distress. So, I sat next to him, chatted a bit while prepping my ABG kit, and then felt for his pulse.
"I'm not going to poke you right away," I told him. "I'll let you know when I'm ready." I like to take my time so that when I do poke, I find the best spot.
When I finally inserted the needle, the blood flowed smoothly and quickly into the syringe. The patient was impressed.
"Wow," he said. "You're good. That didn’t even hurt."
I grinned. "I know. I don’t waste time missing anymore. Back when I was younger, I’d miss every now and then. But now, I just get it right away and be done with it—so I can spend more time in the RT Cave."
He laughed. "You’re really funny. I like that."
"Well, thanks," I said.
The next day, I had to draw his blood gas again. As soon as I told him, he said, "Oh, good! You’re the guy who’s really good at it."
I shook my head. "Wait a minute. You’re not supposed to be overconfident, arrogant, and condescending about my work until after I draw. Now you may have just jinxed me."
He laughed again.
I prepped, gave my usual warning about letting him know before I poked, and took my time finding the perfect spot. Then I inserted the needle—slowly—and… nothing.
"See what I mean?" I said.
I readjusted, and this time, I got it.
"There. Now you know why you don’t say anything until after."
"But you still got it," he said. "Man, you’re good. Better than anyone else who’s poked me."
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