59 - "Do Not Blow!"

“Do not blow!”

The nurse, who is staring with great intensity at the IV in my left hand, repeats the injunction. I am not sure what it means if my vein “blows”, but the image that comes to mind – Old Faithful sending forth a mighty geyser – is not reassuring.

I glare at the IV, too.

I am in for my third PET scan, and this is her third try to insert the IV. I am not surprised. This happens frequently to me. At the start of an appointment, I often give a heads up. I say, with a knowing grin: I am what they call a “hard prick!.”

I beam, proud I know a bit of helpful med-slang.

But as I glare at my vein, it hits. “Hard prick” was not what Daughter#3 told me. Due to a little garbling of the synapses – unfortunately, I do not believe I can blame this on The Big C - I realize the term she used is “a hard stick.”

Later I read this in a site called the nerdynurse.com:

The Vein is composed of 4 separate layers: The outer layer (tunica adventitia), a muscle layer (tunica media), a thin elastic and fibrous layer, and finally the inner layer (tunica intima). When starting an IV you must pass the needle through the four layers until just the tip of the needle is in the center of the vein, then you thread a thin plastic catheter into the vein. Once you hit the tunica intima or innermost layer of the vein, you will see what is called “flashback” when the blood enters the flash chamber of your needle. Seeing a flashback does not necessarily mean you are in the vein, so when you observe a flashback, you must advance the needle about 1 mm before advancing the catheter into the vein.

The article, written by Brittney Wilson, BSN, RN, fills me with new respect for the skill required and makes me more understanding of the times I have been poked by two different techs before they bring in the top gun, the vein whisperer.

Britney also notes a blown vein is “by and large…not serious.” Usually, the only result is a small amount of bruising and the need to find a new vein.

Of course, I do not know this as I sit in the patient room at the imaging center. I am trying to remember what exactly I said at the start of the appointment - plus surreptitiously check for suspicious wall splatters - when the nurse adds, “If this one doesn’t work, I’m going to cry.”

I know this is rhetorical; there is little likelihood of tears. Still, snarky me - and I certainly do blame any snarkiness on The Big C rather than innate flaws in my character! -  does think: If anyone should be crying, shouldn’t it be, um, me?

Not to mention…does jabbing needles around while teary-eyed seem the best road to IV success? And her beautiful make-up? It would be a mess!

I am busy coming up with reasons not to cry - just in case her idea of “rhetoric” and mine, you know, differ - when I hear, “We’re good to go!”  I realize not only did nothing blow, the nurse has already administered the radioactive tracer.

She gives me a big smile. I give her a big smile back.

Maybe I am not such a stiff prick after all!