Type a 300 summary on : Dutiful Daughter Diana Lpez Juanita stepped into the outpatient clinic at Spohn. She wore scrubs, but she wasnt a doctor or nurse. She didnt carry a stethoscope. She carried a tray with needles and tubes, and that was okay because orderlies didnt carry anything. Maybe she wasnt a doctor or nurse, but she wasnt an orderly either. She was a phlebotomist. She liked saying it, phlebotomist. Her parents liked saying it too, but only because they couldnt. Not really. They tried, but they didnt try very hard. They were proud that Juanitas job wasnt as easy to say as waitress or maid. At first, Juanita thought phlebotomist was spelled with an f, but when she learned it was spelled with a p, she straightened up a little. Lots of medical jobs were spelled with ppodiatrist, practitioner, pediatrician. Other jobs started with p but not the p soundpsychologist, physician, physical therapist. Originally, she wanted to be a forensic scientist, which did start with the letter f, just like it sounded, but she didnt think she could graduate from college, then graduate again, then do rotations, then take a national exam. She went to Del Mar Community College instead, and she didnt have to graduate or do rotations or take a test for the certificate. It was a three-month program, twice a week, at night. Hi, Juanita. This from the client care specialist, the CCS. She didnt need college for her job. I got the order for the lab, she said, holding out a form. The patients in the lobby glanced up, saw Juanitas tray, and flinched. She could tell they understood her job now even if they didnt know her official title, phlebotomist. Lots of people didnt know that word, but they knew other words. Thats why when she first stepped into the clinic, Juanita pretended. She wore scrubs, so it was easy. In those few seconds before the CCS or someone else called her out, the patients, she hoped, had spotted her and thought Theres the doctor, but since she was young, if theyd thought, Theres the nurse, that was okay, too. Juanita grabbed the order, then stepped through swing doors to a hallway lined with examination rooms. A chair was there and a scale. Even now a patient stood on it while a nurse, a male nurse, fiddled with the weights. Im looking for Mr. Jefferson, Juanita said. The man getting weighed said, You here to take my blood? Yes, sir, if you dont mind. Of course, I mind. He smiled as he said this, teasing. The nurse wrote down the weight, then asked Mr. Jefferson to sit, then put the blood pressure cuff on his arm. Ill be done in a bit, he told Juanita. Thats okay, she answered, but she was bothered. Whyd she have to wait? The nurse wasnt going anywhere. This was his post, but she had two more stops before going to the lab. Sure, this nurse needed a college degree for his job, but he was fat, probably because he didnt move enough. Nurses shouldnt be fat. They shouldnt smoke or drink or eat doughnuts, either. She tried peeking at his badge to see if he was an RN or LVN, but he was turned away. The cuff got tight on Mr. Jeffersons arm, then started to hiss as it deflated. Juanita wondered how it worked, what the top and bottom numbers of the blood pressure meant. It wasnt part of the three-month program at Del Mar. Maybe thats why she had to wait, because she didnt know stuff like this. The nurse wrote more numbers on Mr. Jeffersons chart and said, All yours, but he didnt leave. Just took a step back. Juanita peeked at his badge againLVN, no big deal, though obviously he thought it was. She couldnt worry about it. She had work to do. She grabbed a purple top and a red top. Then she twisted a needle into the Vacutainer tube.

 How much blood do you need? Mr. Jefferson asked. Just a little, Juanita answered. You call that a little? I dont think so. Youre a regular vampire, arent you? He laughed when he said this. Im not a vampire. More like a mosquito. This made him laugh even more. She lifted the armrest, flat and broad like a cutting board. She propped Mr. Jeffersons arm on it, tied the tourniquet over his bicep, and tore open an alcohol swab. His eyes got wide, but he didnt say anything, not even about the cold alcohol or Juanitas taps on his vein. Youre going to feel a little prick, she said, getting the needle ready. Then, winking, Just like a tiny mosquito bite. She wasnt lying. She had the touch, no pain at all for most patients. There wasnt much to understand about her job, but she knew thisblood was warm; it was not red inside the tubes but a dark, rusty brown. And veins, healthy ones, bounced back, even on the fat patients; veins from patients on prednisone were hard to pin because of excess tissue fluid, which made them float around; veins from drug addicts felt like cords from all the scars. And a good stick meant the blood softly gushed out, while a bad stick meant it came out in squirts