Slippery Veins

I have slippery veins, and yes this is a real thing. I wasn't even aware I had them until I had a horrible surfing accident which opened up an artery under my left arm. One of my IV's needed replacing and this wonderful nurse who was massaging my arm, looking for a likely culprit said, "Ohh.... you have slippery veins, don't you?" I wasn't sure what that meant,, but I did know that I hated giving blood, or getting an IV.

You see, having slippery veins is not that big of a deal, as long as you tell the nurse beforehand. Otherwise they might be on try number 2 or 3 and you're turning white and faint before someone figures out what's going on. I really don't mind getting poked, it's just that after three tries my arm and my brain are ready to run away to a far away Caribbean island, where the sharpest thing is a coconut.

IV's are the hardest because that catheter they're trying to stick inside a vein is a fat little bitch and if you don't get it just right.... try again. I'm at the point now where I can tell if it's a successful poke or not right from the get go because it's like a quickie - fast but awesome. If it's a fail, there's always some digging around a bit before the nurse will admit defeat. And trust me on this one - nurses hate failing just as much as you feel it because it hurts like a god damn son of a bitch sometimes.

Today was like that and I thought the nurse was going to cry for a second because she knew (the always know) that her digging was causing me a shitload of pain. Just the way it is when you have cancer and get as many IVs as I do  :-(

But there is something you can do if you have veins that play hard-to-get, and that is... drink water. Drink a TON of water before you have to give blood or get and IV. It will increase the volume of liquid in your veins and make the nurses jobs much, much easier. And speaking of nurses, my favs are the pediatric nurses because they have a ton of experience with teeny tiny little baby veins and could stick ladybug with an IV.

So, today was number 16. My 16th infusion of pembrolizumab. 48 weeks of cancer therapy. 48 weeks of starting all over again. 48 weeks of wondering what lays over that next rise, and the next one, and the next one, and the....

I think I'm just going to go for it and just not really give a damn about so much - just let my instinct take over permanently so my senses can overload on anything and everything.

Tonight, it's ice cream, and the keyboard.
Tomorrow it will be my new Honda lawnmower, and a beer.