Cannulation

I’ve been undergoing some treatment in hospital over the last few months. It’s nothing too onerous yet I am required to have a cannula inserted every three weeks. Thankfully (and hopefully) the treatment is coming to its completion.

Each time it has been a different nurse and each has their own way of approaching the task. Some are quite brusque and others are completely painless. Having given blood over many years you get used to these kinds of things. 

This time it was a young nurse, quite recently out of university. The cannula was to go into the back of my hand which was still bruised from previous rounds. Finding a good vein took some time. Some were too small while others had a tendency to move and wouldn’t be suitable. Her first attempt didn’t go well and she had to try again, choosing another spot. Her second attempt wasn’t much better. Just then, the Sister appeared and saw that the nurse was struggling. She offered to take over to which the nurse obviously acquiesced. The needle went in smoothly to a completely different vein, perhaps one the nurse could have sorted if she had tried.

Everything went fine from them on except for my feelings of disquiet. Had the Sister been too quick to step in? Had I been too anxious to get the job done? Did the young nurse give way to authority too quickly? Was she in fact put out at not having been unsuccessful two times in a row? 

On reflection I should have intervened and asked her to give it another go. It would have been better for the Sister to encourage her to take it slowly and try again rather than taking over. 

So many questions and only one way to find out. Next time I am there and, if the nurse is on call again, I will ask her how she is getting on and let her know what I have been thinking?

Without practice and encouragement, how will any of us ever learn? So much for ten thousand hours.