If I should die before I wake who gets the carcas?
I went and donated blood today as I usually do when the notice comes telling me the red cross will be in our area. I wonder even more each time why I put myself through the headache.I walk in and check in with the person at the front desk. They hand me a notebook with the latest rules and regulations, news of who can and who can't give blood and why. They ask for my name and then check it off; take the notebook and hand me a card asking me to go sit down and wait. About the time you get settled on the chair that is crammed in a corner where 2 people the size of an anorexic could squeeze together with help.
I go over to the person taking information down into the computer, which by the way they have me on file as a suck-out-as much-blood-as-you-can-get-anytime-cause-she's-type-O file. So they already have me in their little system. Yet from this point on I will be asked to verify my name and social security number another 12 times, and my address and phone number another 6 times.
Don't you think they could see it was the same person with the same sheet they just asked the same questions to not 2 minutes ago?
When I said someting about it the looked at me like I was typhoid Mary tursly replying,"We have to make sure." Make sure? Is their memory that bad? What kind of people do they have for nurses and cna's? I could understand the John Q Public being the ones not remembering, but John Q is the nicest ones there.
Last time I went the nurse RN behind her name blew my vein and I had a bruise the size of Pittsburgh on my right arm for a week. So this time I mentioned it to the nurse that had just stepped in and asked for my name the 10th time after just telling the other nurse that before she went on her break.
This new nurse was worried she was going to do it too this time so she called over a doctor. Swell, so much for getting in and out fast.
Now I've moved 3 times for them to switch the bed chair for my opposite arms. I should have ridden a pogo stick.
I finally get settled and she sticks my left arm, the needle sits for about two seconds and she starts rotating the needle while saying something about moving it. That's a first. Usually the person sticks me, hangs the bag, I pump the ball and the bag fills. They fill the viles and wrap my arm and I'm out of there.
Today, I was in there an hour. They had me filling a big bag according to the nurse. She brought me a hot palm pad to keep moving instead of using a ball like normal. I mean this sucker is boiling hot; I had to keep moving it or get 3rd degree burns in the palm of my left hand. Hay, I was only joking about taking 2 pints instead of one to make up for the time I missed. If I say I won't miss again, will you quit torturing me? Anyway, she's milking my blood into the bag; the doctor comes over and tells her the bag is full. She said she wanted the scale.
She then askes me if they can tap the other arm for the viles. Allrighty then. I'm up so they can move the bed chair again. The doctor moves in and sticks the other arm and begins filling the I think it was 8 viles for tests. My nurse takes them and keeps them moving while he's filling them. The original nurse came over when she got back from her brake and gave me a questioning look. I gave one back like I don't know what's the deal here.
I start thinking I'm going to get out of here sometime soon, but they aren't finished torturing me yet. I have both arms with patches on them and get this, they expect me to hold the gauze on them while another stranger steps in and wraps one arm with the streachy tournacate.
Someone else walks up and asks me what my name is and if that's my social security number while showing me the same paper I've showed them all by now.
Yep, I say that's me, same name and social security number I had since I walked in here. Uh, Oh, bad thing to say. Now there's a woman opening boxes with more bags to fill. Shhhhh, I'm outta here; forget the cookie.
The woman hands me a green paper and tells me if I remeber anything I didn't tell them to call the number and tell them not to use my blood.
Ha, they still don't believe it's me and my blood isn't what their records have shown for 5 years now. That's 5 gallons of blood at 4 times a year. Hay, maybe someday they will trust me.
Which brings me to the title of this thing.
If I should die, before I wake, who's going to get the carcas? Will they believe it's me? Will my identification in my wallet and my red cross card, my donar card and Cpr certification card, credit cards and other Id; will that all be enough to verify I am who I am? Where will my body go? Who drains out the blood? Who takes the skin, hair, eyes, organs, body parts? Is there a body parts salvage yard?
It makes a person wonder. Thank God I'll be dead and not have to keep answering the questions; is this your name, what is your name, social security number and your address and phone? "Ha, Ha, people, that's for me to know and you will have to accept the papers word for it."
posted by Jan myrz @ 6:30 PM
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