Alas, Rejection

I was rejected last week. Excluded. Summarily dismissed. Kicked to the curb.

I had enrolled in a research study last year, a one-off, as far as I knew. I went to Chapel Hill to the EPA building and spent two hours being consented, ---- who knew that could be a verb? ----answering questions on the computer and being questioned in by a researcher. He turned me over to the nurse and I submitted to collection of blood and saliva as well as other medical measurements. It was largely painless and I enjoyed the people who were involved. At the end, they sent me to the bursar, I was given a check, and I went my merry way.

Now, nine months later, I got a call asking if I wanted to participate in a follow-up. It would mean three trips to Chapel Hill over 8 months and some questionnaires and saliva collection at home once a month. The purpose of all this was to measure specific markers that might be associated with air quality. I was in the right zip code and my previous participation marked me as a good candidate. It would pay $420, a sum that greatly added to its appeal. I felt comfortable and was glad I could add my little part to this research effort.

All went well until we reached the clinical part. It started going south immediately when she took my temp and found it was slightly elevated. Hmmmm. Then my blood pressure was much higher than normal, another glitch. We proceeded through a couple of other measurements, laughing and joking as we went. I mentioned that I’d had a pulmonary embolism in November and was scheduled for a stress-echo the next day, which made her frown. I climbed up on the table and she prepared to draw blood. Since the PE, I’ve been on a blood thinner, which concerned her about the blood draw.

She stuck me once. No blood. She switched to the other arm and still not enough to make a difference. With many apologies, she tried one more time with no result. It seemed I was all dried up. It was then that she told me that all these things meant I would probably be excluded from the study. She talked to the research guy in charge and sure enough, I was out. They sent me to the bursar for a check to cover what I had done and I was sent on my way.

I was surprised at how it made me feel. Driving home, tears welled, blurring my vision. It wasn’t the money, it was rejection. I was disappointed. It reminded me of being laughed at or left behind in grade school. I felt like a failure, not good enough. I went home and, against my better judgment, ate some ice cream and went to bed for a two-hour afternoon nap.

Some things echo for a long time, I guess. 

And I need to stay hydrated.