As mentioned previously: The tale of the blood draw station. Elle’s a little jaundiced and on Monday we had to go get her a blood test. “Stat” order from doctor in hand and a little nerve-wracked, we arrive at the blood draw station. The place is packed and a somewhat surly nurse tells us that we’re gonna have to wait blah blah blah. My concept of “Triage” is totally blown at this point. We look for a seat amongst the masses awaiting their cholestorol results and end up squatting on the floor.

Test comes back, shows an elevation and we have to go back the next day for a follow up. This time the place is empty (save for the aforementioned surly nurse)  and we’re at the head of the line. Blood drawn, we’re out. A couple hours later we call in for the results and are told they aren’t in the system – they’ll check around and call us back. Turns out the nurse never took the sample over to the lab and it sat until our call prompted the system back into action.

So you could gripe or blather on about incompetency, or at least unprofessional behavior but I found a different part of experience rewarded the most scrutiny: The parental instinct that kicked in at the initial draw when we were sent to the back of the line was pretty amazing. Outwardly I was perturbed but not (I think) abrasive…Inside I felt a pretty amazing swell of protective emotion that could only be translated roughly to “How dare you stand in the way of my daughter’s needs – do our will or I will crush you”. Or something like that.

Mostly I consider myself pretty hard to anger but there it was…a short spike of impotent rage when denied service for my daughter. In this modern veneer of society, it was really surprising to see a bit of the caveman jump out and want to protect the little girl.But a cool thing to feel so strongly about her after just a short time together. That sort of Daddy instinct feels great and is the one thing I have in common with Eminem. Well, that and my dope rhymes.

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