Prick me, do I not bleed?
And then there are the things that nobody but me would understand, or take any delight in. Like the complexities of finger-pricking to get a droplet of blood for glucose testing. Who knew it would be so complex remembering which finger is next in line for exsanguination? At first I thought I could just go by feel; after all, recently pricked fingers should hurt so Iâd just shoot for the pain-free digits. As it turns out, fingers stop hurting about .5 seconds after being pricked. Additionally, the mark from a four-hour-old pin-prick looks identical to a three-day-old pin-prick. At this point, I figure that if thereâs really so little difference, then it really canât matter all that much. I still try to rotate fingers, but Iâm just as likely to select a finger based on what it may or may not be asked to do in the next ten minutes. Fingers that might need to poke a microwave, sew a felt ornament or turn a page on a book are more likely to receive a pass than fingers that just sit on a hand playing Vanna White.
This morning the case of the missing blood droplet amused me off and on for an hour or so. I used my handy dandy little finger-pricking device for the first glucose test of the day on the index finger of my left hand. I felt the familiar momentary sting, and held the finger to the test strip to catch the first bit of escaping blood. Nothing happened. I held the finger up to my presbyopic eye, squinting to try and find where the skin was broken. Without my glasses I couldnât see the tiny wound, but I knew I felt the pin enter. Confused, I squeezed the finger to encourage blood flow. Initially, there was nothing. A fraction of a second later a fine jet of blood shot from my finger and sprayed across the bathroom mirror and sink. Nurse, we have a bleeder! I grabbed the test kit, held the strip to the finger, and again there was not a drop to be had. I squeezed more gingerly this time and got the required ooze for the test. While the glucosometer cogitated, I mopped up the spatter, giggling the entire time.
Joy is where you find it.
I prick myself on the heel of my hand. I did my fingers for a couple of years,,,but I like it this way laot better.
Jami
My mother is adapting to testing her blood, too. (I know you haven’t been online much lately so you may not have heard, but she went through a big medical crisis a couple of weeks ago. She ended up in the emergency room twice because her blood sugar level dropped, and she passed out for an hour and a half the second time.) She was telling me about learning how to do it, and she said something about sometimes not being able to get any blood out. I didn’t think that could happen!
I’m such an insensitive jerk that I’m actually giggling, too
I poke my fingers on the sides, very close to the nail. I find that it hurts less and never gets in the way of what I ask my fingers to do. Now, with the neuropathy moving into my hands I have reduced sensation on the outsides of my last two fingers of each hand. I just use any finger that doesn’t hurt when I prod it.