An Open Letter to the Phlebotomists of the World

If you can draw blood from a tiny vein that is doing its best to retreat deep within my arm, I salute you.

If you do not know a "hard stick" when you see one, I do not.

If you have a soft, soothing voice and a sure but gentle touch, I salute you.

If you ask me to clench and unclench my fist so many times that rigor mortis nearly sets in, I do not.

If you know enough to use a tiny needle for a tiny vein, I salute you.

If you don't know enough to call a pro after the second unsuccessful stick, I do not.

If your aim is so true that your work never yields a bruise, I salute you.

If you dream of being an archeologist and make do by excavating my flesh, I do not.

If you can draw my blood in less time than it takes to recite my name and date of birth, I salute you.

If a new geological era dawns and I still have a tourniquet on my arm, I do not.

If I leave your company with nothing more than a tiny Band-Aid, I salute you.

If I walk out with an arm covered in gauze and six strips of tape, I do not.

If you were born to be a phlebotomist, I salute you.

If you should have been a lobotomist, I do not.