Blood Lines

By Sally Franz

You know that kid in Biology who loved to prick everyone’s finger to get that drop of blood for the slide? I can still feel that sting and it gives me the willies. But not my friend Kathy. She was right there stabbing every kid who was too chicken to do it. It is amazing she did not grow up and do that for a living. I am talking about that fun group of people who draw your blood: The Phlebotomists. (Now there is a title for a TV show if ever I heard one). Phlebo, meaning dealing with a blood vessel, and tomia, meaning cutting off. What they do is venipuncture. Sounds like a latte drink given intravenously. Now watch, that will be all the rage.

There turns out to be a long history to taking blood willingly or not. The thought is bloodletting originated in Egypt. And those phlebotomists exported the skill to the Greeks. Then of course later blood “gathering” vampires like Vlad Tepes in Romania made the craze famous. Even the Mayan priests gave it a stab (but more for worship than health). Obviously, it was a short service for the sacrificial person of choice. Just saying.

There were phlebotomists in the Middle Ages who used leeches and incisions to get blood. And usually your local bloodletting Barber did the cutting. Makes sense. He could nick you while shaving you and give you a BOGO* deal (*Buy One-Get One). By the way, remember the red and white “Barber Pole” outside that quaint shop? That wasn’t supposed to be a rotating candy cane. No, it symbolized the red blood dripping down on wrung out white towels and bandages all hung out to dry in the medieval streets. All together now, “Ewww”. With those heath habits, is it any wonder how fast the plague spread?

Fast forward five centuries. Anyone who has been sick long enough to be on a first name basis with a modern phlebotomist knows that these professionals try to be quick and cheerful. But it is still a needle stuck into your skin sucking out some of your bodily fluids into a vacuum tube or tubes. Ouch. Albeit, not as big an “ouch” as leeches. I’ve had to pull a few off after jumping into murky ponds. It was at a summer camp and our archrival swim team hosted an event in a grizzly black swamp pond. I put in my fastest times for the butterfly stroke in camp history and I still had leeches on my back and legs.

In all fairness to modern science, the needles are much better than they used to be: thinner, sharper, and NOT reused. I am 66. When I was six years old, I swear needles were the size of drinking straws. The only valuable thing about getting your blood taken as a kid back in the 50s was that you could bribe your parents for candy and toys by promising to behave because there is nothing worse than a squirming five year old resisting a needle. And watching a 66 year old squirm is no pretty picture either.

Sally Franz and her third husband live on the Olympic Peninsula. She has two daughters, a stepson, and three grandchildren. Sally is the author of several humor books including Scrambled Leggs: A Snarky Tale of Hospital Hooey and The Baby Boomer’s Guide to Menopause. She hosts a local radio humor segment, “Baby Boomer Humor with Sassy Sally”.