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Rated: E · Article · Nonsense · #1794628
Just a humorous (I hope) take on getting to a blood test.
The Blood Test

I sometimes wonder if a blood test isn’t doctors’ sneaky way to get us started on an exercise program.

Getting that form for a blood test is like getting an entry blank for a race.  It’s bad enough you have to fast for a period of time before the procedure, but then you have to participate in a brief but intense foot race before the actual test.

You start planning your strategy as soon as you’re told you need blood work. Questions and answers begin processing themselves through your brain. What time does the lab open?  What’s the fastest route to get there? Do I dare try making it there and back at lunch, or should I try to get in and out before work?  What about waiting until Saturday?

You decide first thing in the morning is your best bet, although the weekend does look tempting. Fasting during the work week seems more stressful than Friday night going into Saturday morning, but you want to get this over with.  You recheck the lab’s hours and factor in morning rush-hour traffic figuring early is better than late. 

Finally, the big day arrives and you manage to make it to the parking lot relatively close to the time you planned.  You get out of your car carrying your form and start walking towards the door.  You’re thinking about how much time this is going to take, how long the wait will be, how many other people will be there, and how long the line will be at the nearest drive-thru because this fasting bit is killing you.

Then, without thinking about it, you start glancing about surreptitiously from the side of your eye, noticing the foot traffic towards the door, trying to see if anyone else is approaching with one of those same forms.

Your brain automatically starts gauging their speeds as compared to your own, knowing that they’ll be in front of you if they get to the door first.  Your feet adjust to their speed and then increase yours a little bit more. Oh sure, you try to be nonchalant about it, to walk faster without LOOKING like you’re walking faster.  But they’re doing the same thing.

You do it without thinking, without even wanting to do it.  Even if you tried not to engage in this exercise in herd ranking, you couldn’t.  This is human competition, survival of the fittest, and some evolutionary compulsion forces you to engage.  I don’t care if you’re on crutches; you’re hobbling faster than you normally would.

If you pay attention, you notice more people approaching, speeds increasing, until you all look like a bunch of Ostrich entered into an Olympic fast walking race.

The automatic door barely gets out of the way in time as you all nearly tumble inside. The first hand on the lab door wins as civility must again reign once you’re inside the facility. Everyone falls in line, taking the number (place) they’ve earned and silently vowing to do better next time.  Forms get filled out, magazines get glanced over, and everyone tries to pretend they’re sweating because they’re nervous about the upcoming needle stick.

Well played doctors, well played.

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