I had blood drawn on Saturday for the cholesterol test I've been putting off for six months or more. I got the best technician - a young man named Brandon (how old am I that I refer to him that way??) with an upbeat attitude and a friendly smile that belied the busy morning the lab had had.
Because my veins tend to play hide and seek, getting blood drawn is often a bruising experience for me. So, I told Brandon that technicians sometimes use pediatric needles on me, and his response was "then let's use the butterfly right away."
Other techs have not been so kind. Some pacify me with a "we'll see" and others take it as an affront to their abilities.
I hate it when someone treats me as though I don't know what I'm talking about. It makes me angry. Cranky. Stubborn.
The thing is, it's not just the needle. That small acknowledgement, that moment of courtesy meant so much. To Brandon, it was a butterfly needle. To me, it was respect.
It's so easy to make a difference to someone else - to listen, to let someone in front of us in traffic, to be agreeable instead of argumentative. We sometimes forget just how very easy it is.
But Brandon didn't. My blood test was three days ago, and the results were what I expected, but not what I desired. I have some changes to make. But I'm not bruised - visibly or otherwise. For that, I am very grateful.
Sometimes, it just doesn't take that much.