Are there one or more Great Evil Geniuses of the Universe (GEGOTU) that take great delight in creatively punishing us for our most minor transgressions? Does he/she/it/they watch us day and night as we live our otherwise dull lives, ready to convert the most ordinary situation into a source of pain and embarrassment for us and amusement for him/her/them?
As an aside, if no GEGOTU exists, does the plural form still apply, so that we might also say that all GEGOTU do not exist? If many GEGOTU exist, do they act alone or jointly? I can't imagine them acting as a committee -- they seem too creative and intelligent, not to mention omnipresent. If they act alone, do they sometimes get in each other's way, giving us a momentary break? If there is only one, why does my life attract so much of his/her/its attention?
I recently wrote a short story about a cute little bunny rabbit that loved to innocently suck the blood out of humans and their pets. A few days after finishing the first draft of my story I had a medical appointment at which I was expected to give certain samples for laboratory analysis. Now I have given lots of blood, gallons of it, and most of the time there is no problem. I say I have given the blood although, in actual fact, a phlebotomist has taken the blood while I sat there trying to conceal my pain. The procedure goes quickly and easily the vast majority of the time. Only rarely does something go wrong. This was one of those times.
It made me wonder if some GEGOTU had seen the pride with which I presented my bunny story and decided to teach me how precious hemoglobin and its associated fluids really are.
It is actually quite easy to extract blood from the human body. Just take a large knife and slash almost anywhere. Blood is likely to flow in profusion, at least for a while. Or drop a large boulder on your human and blood will be squeezed out like the soapy water when you step on a sponge in the shower. Of course, you will not be able to collect the blood until you remove the boulder, at which point the human will have lost interest in the results of any laboratory work and medical intervention will be limited to enumerating the body parts that didn't have to be scraped off of the boulder or the ground under it.
No, phlebotomy is the art of removing exact quantities of blood while doing the minimum of damage to the subject. Blood is only a renewable resource if you leave enough for the subject to survive to produce more. The usual procedure is to insert a clean hollow metal needle into a vein and using some kind of mechanism to suck out the desired quantity of the blood thus exposed. That is a weak point of the procedure, for the vein doesn't always cooperate.
We all take our veins for granted, assuming that they will be there and will do their job, which is to allow blood the heart has pumped out to return so it can be pumped out again, over and over. But they do their job hidden under skin and fat, out of sight. Their presence may be known by raised or colored portions of the skin, which is sometimes translucent enough for the color to show through. More often, though, the presence and condition of a vein is determined by poking or prodding the skin, blood vessels giving a different sensation than muscle, connective tissue or bone. It may be very difficult to find a suitable vein. The subject of the procedure may have to be asked about the history of attempts to remove blood, to suggest where the search should begin.
The actual needle stick may be preceded by a number of actions designed to ease locating the vein or simplify blood extraction. An elastic band or pneumatic cuff may be employed to restrict flow of blood from an extremity, forcing the veins to hold more than their usual amount of blood so they will swell up and become firmer and bouncier. The subject may be asked to clench his fist or to squeeze some soft object, often a ball, or to swing the arm back and forth as it hangs below its usual place. All of these actions fill the vein with more fluid than it normally would hold, making it swell up and stand out.
The needle might not enter the vein for a variety of reasons: the vein might be covered in hard scar tissue, the vein might be too small or the needle too large, the needle might be just a bit too dull, the point of the needle may be angled wrong, or the vein might be stubborn and refuse to give up its treasure. I think all of these happened to me this time.
Suitable veins were found, plump and hard and bouncy. Repeated attempts to probe vein with needle were made, all equally unsuccessful. Phlebotomist after phlebotomist were called to watch or to try their luck. At any given time, half of the phlebotomists in the building might be present. The room grew full.
How many phlebotomists are necessary for critical mass? How many were necessary for a quorum, so business could take place? If a full coven required thirteen, would seven be a quorum? But that's a different kind of group, not phlebotomists.
The minutes that passed grew to require three digits to express their number. I accumulated a patchwork of miscellaneous bandages: a wad of cotton stuck on with paper tape, a large Band-Aid type, various small elliptical spots.
The inside of the elbows were tried repeatedly and failed repeatedly. The backs of hands were tried with no success. Other places were suggested, mostly the feet. I suggested they place the pneumatic cuff around my neck, pump it up as much as they could and take the blood from my head before it exploded. The group grew tense, then morose.
Finally a vein on the back of a hand was persuaded to release its treasure trove. Multiple breaths were held as tube after tube was filled with dark indigo (not yellow, as had been suggested) liquid spraying into hungry vacutainers. Finally the required tubes were full ... but what of next time? Shouldn't a few more tubes be filled now, in case it became difficult again the next time, or the time after? But no, enough was enough. The needle was removed, yet another patch was added to the collection that blocked holes in the skin, and the group of phlebotomists silently disbanded. The GEGOTU was done with his/her/its/their little joke, assuming he/she/it/they had ever been involved.