Life Lessons

Everyone I Stuck Died the Next Day

As a phlebotomist, being the unofficial angel of death was daunting, so I had to change my career.

A long time ago, in a medical building far, far away, I was a Laboratory Liaison Tech (LLT) working at St. Luke’s Hospital in Chicago.

I won the job by walking into the hospital’s Human Resources department and telling them the truth: I was the most extraordinary phlebotomist the world had ever seen. — at a minimum, I was one of the best.

A phlebotomist is a medical professional who’s trained to perform blood draws. They collect blood for testing or donation and can also perform blood transfusions.

I also recently passed the Illinois State Certified Laboratory Assistance test with one of the highest scores in my class. I had the right to put the letters CLA behind my name. I wanted to add the hospital’s LLT designation as well. Presbyterian St. Luke only took the best.

A Laboratory Liaison Tech (LLT) collected specimens and put the results of the tests into the patient’s charts with recommendations for follow-up tests. We got the recommendations by consulting with the 4-year degreed medical technologists who performed the tests.

Medical lab techs at that time came in five flavors:

· A non-degreed trained person

· A trained one-year person who passed a state test and was certified

· A two-year associate degree technician

· The four-year bachelor’s degree technologist

· The Ph.D. who ran the labs and served on the hospital’s leadership staff

One thing was for sure: no one wanted to be the one collecting the specimens from the patients. That was not why the four-year technologists had gone to school. They liked to develop and perform tests.

The non-degree and the one-year certified techs were the specimen collectors. Our job was to collect urine, saliva, pus, feces, and mucus from grumpy, sick people.

Collecting the samples, performing simple tests, posting the results, and checking if the doctors took advice from the technologists made for a fast-moving day. It was an excellent job that was different daily as patients flowed in and out of the hospital.

I became an excellent blood drawer because, during my training program to become a Certified Lab Technician (CLA), my lab partner was a middle-aged former addict with the worst veins in humanity.

My partner’s veins had all gone into “witness protection” level hiding. All their veins had retreated beneath his skin. I had to draw his blood or fail. I did not fail but learned many techniques to locate hard-to-stick veins.

I was hired at Pres St Luke’s. In the 24 months I worked there, I developed a reputation as an excellent phlebotomist. Drawing blood from patients is an art form. If you were ever stuck over three times for one blood sample, you can appreciate an artist when you meet one.

Every LLT was assigned to a hospital floor to work. Mine was 2 Pavilion, a large busy floor with people in various conditions and degrees of illness. Because I was good at phlebotomy, I was called to other units to draw blood, especially the geriatric patients.

One day, one of my colleagues told me I had quite a reputation. I grinned. Of course, I did. I was the best.

“Everyone you stick in geriatrics dies the next day.”

“What?” I said.

“Every time you draw blood from the old people, one of them dies.”

“I’m not the harbinger of doom. I only draw blood from the oldest and sickest patients. Many of them are close to the edge to start with. Some of them passed away. Many of them are here because they require critical care, or they won’t survive.”

“They think it might be you.”

“It’s not me,” I said. “None of the patients in my regular unit are dropping dead after I stick them.

“Oh, it’s you. Their regular LLT sticks to older people all the time. They don’t die. Now, they call you when they want someone to pass away. One stick from you, and boom, it’s all over. We were thinking about taking up a collection to buy you a special black uniform to celebrate your new status as the goddess of death.”

Her comments caught me off guard because I was proud of what I could do with a lousy vein shrouded in ancient skin.

The next time they called for me to come to the seniors’ building to draw, I was busy and never went. The doctor ended up having to stick the patient in the groin to get the blood.

I kept up that behavior until I was called to the office. My supervisor asked me why I was suddenly so busy. My floor was usually finished by 1:30 pm, but now it took me the entire shift.

“I’m not an angel of death”, I said. “I know people were still dying without me coming to get their samples. I checked. My absence did not delay gravely ill sick people from dying”.

My boss did not like my answer. Hell, I didn’t like my answer either.

This meeting was critical in my decision on a major when I went to college six months later. I am qualified to pursue a four-year Medical Technology, Writing, or Engineering degree.

I chose Engineering. People did not die when you completed an engineering project successfully, did they? No, they did not. Engineering was the way.

After the meeting, I switched jobs with Dallas, the other LLT, who was as good at collecting specimens as I was. I became the person who drew blood from babies; she became the one who worked with the seniors. She was tired of sticking the newborns; I was tired of working with dying older people.

Drawing babies meant you were called from your floor randomly; sick babies did not come into the world on a schedule. It’s hard to draw babies that need tubes of blood drawn. Typically, a baby gets a small heel stick unless the baby is ill. Then you need more blood.

I could draw the heel sticks and the vein with tiny needles. With the older individuals, you went over after your regular floor draws were done. With babies, you stopped whatever you did to report to delivery if needed.

It was stressful but still much better than being called the harbinger of death behind your back. Much better.

Some things in life affect you and have nothing to do with fact. In this instance, I thought my skill with a needle was winning me accolades among the hospital staff and the patients. I was blind to the reality of how I was being perceived.

In reality, my team saw me in a way I had never imagined. It is important to know what your colleagues think of you. Their perception is their reality and may require you to take action to address any instances that do not match how you wish to be seen.

In my case, it would have done no good for me to argue with others' views of me; I had to act to change them. After switching to the other very skilled LLT, I changed my perception.

By the time I left the hospital, I was known as the tech who did an excellent job drawing blood from babies instead of the LLT who drew blood from Seniors who died the next day.

The facts were true and could not be disputed. The interpretation of those facts was what was incorrect. Some people still do not intentionally step on cracks in a sidewalk for fear of harming their mother’s back.

The experience taught me that even though you can be the best at what you do, you should be careful of others' perceptions of you.

Pay attention to and check on your reputation from time to time. Sometimes, a passing comment can contain information you may have missed.

Listen to how you are perceived. Professional reputation matters.

Thank you for reading my story.

If you enjoyed this piece, you may also check out this piece reflecting my life lessons: Move Boomer, Get Out the Way, Get Out the Way, Boomer.

Toni Crowe retired from corporate America as an Executive Vice President for a Fortune 500 Aerospace company. She learned many hard lessons on her way to success, which she shares in her book, Bullets and Bosses Don’t Have Friends — Winner of the 2019 Readers Favorite Gold Award in Non-Fiction, Occupational. A must-read for those trying to get ahead.