Freakin' Phlebotomist

You know that saying, "You're only as old as you feel?"  Typically, I feel pretty good.  I'd like to think I have a good sense of humor, I have enough energy to get me through my day, and I can pretty much keep up with RM when her go go gadget legs rip up the living room.  However, I think I may not be looking as young as I feel.  "Why do you feel that way?" you may ask.  Well, thank you for your unspoken suggestion that I am indeed smoking hot and don't look a day over 21 (I don't hear your snickering, snide comments over the Internet, so there.  I would try to spell out the sound of me making a farting noise with my mouth, but I seriously don't have any clue how to spell that, so we're going to just pretend that you are agreeing with me and not at all making fun of me).  So, as I was saying, I have had some recent experiences which would suggest that my young at heart attitude is not reflected in my outward appearance.

As some of you may remember, back in July we went up to Maine for a couple of days (that was the whole double ear infection fiasco for those of you who aren't remembering).  Well, Nicole's family has this tradition of stopping at this restaurant on the way out of town each year for breakfast and, well, we did it again this year (see how that works?  It's a tradition.  That means they do it each time they're there.  So, shockingly, we did it this year.  Got it?  Good.  Now stay with me.  We can't keep having these little digressions for me to try and catch you up).  So, we're at breakfast, all sitting around and having a good time.  My precious little munchkin, who by that time was well on her way to recovering from her ear infections, was yelling and hollering to get out of her seat and run around the restaurant.  While I was dealing with her, the waiter (who was very young) came over the table to check in on us and, in the process, asked if I was RM's grandmother.  Yeah.  No, don't adjust your screen.  You read that right.  Grandmother.  Grandmother.  I'll say it again for those of you who remain befuddled (I do enjoy that word, "befuddled), Grandmother.  While Nicole's mother and aunt were politely trying to stifle their laughter, Nicole and her sister took great pleasure in openly laughing and mildly mocking me.  Now, granted, I might have a few gray hairs here and there, but "GRANDMOTHER"??!?!?!  COME ON!!!!

As you can well imagine, it took my bruised egos a few days...OK, weeks, to recover from that one.  But, I did recover and have been slowly returning to accepting my mental age as my reality.  In other words, I'm going back to that adage of being as old as I feel and assuming that means that I also only look that old as well.  While my recovery has been relatively slow, but steady (For those of you currently making a joke about my age, you should know I can't see you or hear you...through my computer.  So, neener neener neener), it had been progress...until this past Saturday when I suffered a tragic setback.  Essentially, we had to take RM to get some routine blood work done and we were all dreading it because we knew they were going to have to do a full blood draw and we knew that wouldn't be pretty (you know, stick the needle in her arm rather than doing a finger prick...(tee hee.  I said "prick")).  We got to the lab, checked her in and waited.  We didn't have to wait long and Nicole and I took her back to the assigned room.  Within a couple of minutes, a woman came in and prepped the vials.  Nicole and I talked it over and decided Nicole would hold RM in her lap and I would try to help hold her down if needed.  Two more women entered the room and we were ready to begin.  Now, first of all, the room was pretty small, so to have 5 adults and a toddler in there, was a little tight.  The other observation I had was that the women were of all different ages, with two of them being clearly older than me and one being in her early 30s probably.  Ok, I've set the stage and here comes the drama, ready?  The phlebotomist pricked RM's arm and the screaming began.  It was obvious that her lungs remain in very good working condition and that, while she has not been eating spinach, she had freakish baby strength as Nicole was holding her, a tech was trying to hold her, and she was still managing to wriggle enough that she was trying to break out of Nicole's arms and come to me.  Her screaming, tears and struggling was enough to absolutely devastate and puncture my heart, but I soldiered on and tried to help in any way I could.  While you might think this is the tragedy I had earlier referred to, it is not.  Here comes the tragic part.  As I'm trying my best to remain composed and strong, the oldest of the phlebotomists turns to me and says, "Are you grandma?  Maybe you should wait out in the hallway so she can't see you."  REALLY?!?!?  WHAT THE F*@%!?!?!?!  GRANDMA?!?!?  It's a DAMN good thing she asked me to step out in the hallway because at that moment I felt like Bruce Banner and I knew I was going to need to go buy a new shirt (please note: that's an Incredible Hulk reference.  Remember? Bruce Banner was the guy who turned into the Hulk and, no matter what he was wearing when he first got angry, he always ended up in the same tattered shirt and shorts as the Hulk.  His tailor must have freaking LOVED him because I'm sure the Hulk paid for the guy's summer home with all the shirts and pants he had to buy).

A short time later, they were done, RM settled down in my arms, and Nicole laughed hysterically and quickly posted the whole exchange on Facebook.  And that, my friends, is when I came to the realization that those grey hairs on my head really are visible to other people.  Oh, and I also came to realize that the freaking phlebotomist needs a to go see her freaking optometrist.