Chasing the Dragon with a Pen
Fighting the urge to write feels like kicking an insatiable drug addiction.
All I want to do is write.
I want to sip my coffee, check on my kids — leave my kisses all over their faces, and frantically tap away on my keyboard in my sweatpants and no bra.
I want to feel the sweet rush of oxytocin while I hit that green “publish” button all. day. long.
But alas, I started a new (extensive but rewarding) adventure in my Healthcare journey — Phlebotomy.
Fuck my life.
Anyone else out there who has made it through a venipuncture program (and shares the ‘fml’ sentiment), please tell me that I’m not going to die from mental/physical exhaustion, blood loss, or a stress-induced myocardial infarction.
Thank you, kindly.
As you can see — my relationship with Phlebotomy is on the fritz right now. Because some days, I love it. Finding the “good veins” and seeing the flash of blood come through the butterfly needle is just what the doctor ordered — literally. It’s the perfect mini-oxytocin hit my hypothalamus is craving.
Other days, I want to flip my draw table over, snap off my gloves and kick rocks.
