I'm trying to get into a clinical trial. Unfortunately it's not for anything that's going to get me really cool abilities like Wolverine's healing factor or super strength from implants like Steve Austin in The Six Million Dollar Man. The trial is to test the efficacy of a drug used to treat a condition affecting roughly 4% of adults in the US.
The clinical staff seemed excited as they reviewed my history as I apparently, at least on paper, checked off their requirements for an ideal candidate. I, on the other hand, am having to give a lot of consideration as to whether I really want to be a part of this study.
One concern is it's a major time commitment. This trial will continue for at least a year and a half, and over the course of the trial, monthly office visits are required. Apart from taking routine measurements, these visits will require frequent blood draws, which is my primary concern.
First of all, I don't mind needles. As a matter of fact, I've routinely subjected myself to acupuncture sessions. I remember when I was a kid just before I started first grade, Dad took me to the clinic on the CB base for my MMR immunization shots. When we walked in, we ran into a whole passel of kids clinging to one of their frazzled parents, with most of them crying (the kids, not the parents). Wondering what house of horrors we'd just entered, I reflexively gripped Dad's hand.
I started to get more anxious as I waited my turn to step through the exam room door, that foreboding portal where sobbing kids walked in and wailing kids were carried out. Watching all this, I felt the trepidation of those ahead in line slowly creep over me when suddenly it was my turn.
Dad and I entered the hell gate and I saw a dude in a white coat waiting for me. For some reason he seemed frazzled like a lot of the parents, but he still managed to smile and nod at me while exchangeing pleasantries with Dad. A nurse sporting a crisp, white nurse's cap walked in holding a tray lined with several hypodermics and gave me a reassuring smile before disappearing behind a curtain.
Eyeballing the needles, I gave Dad a look that carried the question, "Am I going to be OK?" He got the message loud and clear, because he just grinned and nodded his head. In the time it took for that exchange to take place, white coat Dude swabbed my arm with alcohol and deftly delivered the payloads from his array of syringes.
Before I could protest that assault with a yelp, he was applying a large bandage to my arm and giving me a lollipop. I learned early on, needles weren't a big deal for me.
Giving blood is another story. I went to my first blood drive when I was in college. Nurses at the stations had no problems finding a vein so I didn't realize it was a big deal. Also, considering the Navy excused you from 0600 runs if you'd given blood the day before, I went to a lot of blood drives. In my time at Auburn, I gifted the Red Cross several gallons of prime Filipino crude.
In the intervening decades, something changed. It appears tapping the hemoglobin highways in my arms has become particularly challenging. Even my regular doctor doesn't attempt it anymore. After one physical where four unsuccessful attempts were made, he sent me over to a lab specializing in blood draws.
Now as I'm sitting in the exam room of this clinical study, a very young nurse informs me she'll need to draw my blood. I give a sigh of resignation and placed both my arms on the examination table between us. She thumps one of my inner arms, crinkles her brow, then thumps the other. I can feel her nervousness. "Umm. Mr. Capuyan, I'll be right back." I grinned knowingly.
"Good for you, kid, knowing when to ask for help."
Nurse 1 returned with an older, assumingly more experienced nurse. I explained to him the difficulty people had hitting my veins. Nurse 2 smiled and declared, "Challenge accepted!" Pfft. I admired his bravado. He tried holding my arms at different angles, tying super tight tourniquets, and even applying heat pads. On his third and final attempt, he started probing with the needle, trying desperately to find a vein.
I know people have endured more painful things out there, and if I'm honest, this was probably only a 2 or 3 on the pain scale. This was more about the type of pain rather than the pain level because it felt like a cross between someone raking fingernails across a chalkboard and sustaining a continuous paper cut. Finally admitting defeat, Nurse 2 apologized profusely and excused himself. "Are you going to get the 'sniper'?" He was good natured enough to smile at the remark.
After a few minutes he returned with what I hoped was an even more experienced phlebotomist. I glanced up at her. "You must be the sniper." Nurse 2 and I shared a chuckle while Nurse 3 looked at both of us quizzically.
I was in the middle of attempting to explain the inside joke when Nurse 3 deftly tied a tourniquet, swabbed my arm, jabbed with a syringe, and finally found an elusive vein. I started laughing. Loudly. Nurse 2's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. "What did...? Wait. How did...?"
While Nurse 3 took the opportunity to make this a teachable moment, I sat there watching vial after vial filling with prime, hard-earned, Filipino crude. Did I really want to be here? My medical condition is being successfully controlled with established medication. Yes, the study is compensated, but between all the visits, missed work, and becoming a human pin cushion, it's a wash, if not a slight loss. Even if selected, if I stay on, it will simply be for the chance to further science.
I'm now contemplating how to save time and my own discomfort on my next visit. A shot or two of bourbon before walking in would definitely make me more comfortable and numb the exploratory attempts with a needle. Unfortunately, that would also likely screw up my bloodwork and blood pressure readings.
I may be constrained to just hoping the sniper is on duty that day.
David Gilmour - Comfortably Numb
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