"Your Veins Are Wrong"—My Journey

There’s an unspoken rule when you live with a complex condition: you brace yourself every time you step into a medical setting. You prepare to explain your history, justify your symptoms, and navigate a system that is often ill-equipped to handle anything outside the standard checklist. What you don’t expect—or rather, what you shouldn’t have to expect—is outright mistreatment at the hands of those who are meant to care for you.

I recently had the misfortune of encountering exactly that. A simple blood test and ECG turned into an experience that left me not just physically bruised, but emotionally drained. I’ve had my fair share of difficult blood draws over the years—thanks to tiny, deep-set veins that seem to view a needle as their cue to retreat. But I’ve also had healthcare professionals who understood this and worked with patience, skill, and care. This time, however, was different.

The nurse responsible for my care that day—let’s call her Nurse Ratched—was not one of those professionals. When her initial attempt to draw blood failed, frustration quickly took over. Rather than reassessing her approach or calling for assistance, she decided to take her anger out on me. “Why did you unclench your fist? Did I tell you to unclench your fist? No—so do what I tell you.” The words were spat at me, as if I were an unruly child rather than a patient doing my best to comply.

What followed was a series of painful, careless stabs into both my arms and hands. She moved the needle in and out of the same puncture site, as if she could force my vein to cooperate. When I winced in pain, her response was  “What’s all the ‘ow ow’ for?”—as though I had no right to feel discomfort from her rough handling.

The ECG was no better. The nurse questioned why I was even having the test, dismissing my attempt to explain. She spoke to me in a patronizing tone, acting as though I had no right to be there in the first place. Then, after sticking on the patches, she demanded I “relax” and proceeded to argue with me about whether or not I was relaxed—as if telling someone to relax after physically and verbally berating them is an effective strategy.

This is the kind of treatment that makes healthcare inaccessible for people with complex conditions. It’s not just about one bad experience; it’s about the pattern. The erosion of trust. The internal debate every patient with a difficult diagnosis has: Is this worth the fight? Do I really need this test, or can I just suffer through and avoid dealing with another dismissive professional? It shouldn’t be like this.

I write a lot about the negative side of the NHS—not because I want to tear it down, but because I want to help make it better. The NHS is worth fighting for. But these bad apples need to understand the harm they do—not just to individual patients, but to the very system we are trying to protect. They are the cracks that widen, the people who erode public trust and drive patients away. If I can see both sides of that coin—appreciating the brilliance of the NHS while calling out the rot—why is it so bloody difficult for some healthcare professionals to do the same?

So, to the good healthcare professionals out there—thank you. You are the ones holding the NHS together. As for the bad ones—the ones who think patient care is an optional extra, who treat vulnerable people like an inconvenience—I have news for you: your patients do talk. We share our experiences, we warn each other, and more importantly, we are done letting your behavior go unchallenged. The NHS may be struggling, but it is still worth saving. The question is—are you?