GLASS SYRINGE W/LUER LOCK 1 ML

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GLASS SYRINGE W/LUER LOCK 1 ML

Glass Syringe with Luer Lock. Keep your concentrates fresh with these 1ML syringes. Use them to apply concentrates to your preferred dabbing devices without wasting any supplies. State-of-the-art technology, child-proof syringes made with heat-resistant borosilicate glass. Crafted to be airtight, medical grade, ultra-hygienic and easy to use and clean. Easily assemble and disassemble in three easy steps. Get more news about Glass Syringe 1ml,you can vist our website!

Each order of Glass Syringe with Luer Lock comes with 100 units stored in a plastic container, allowing for easy concentrate dispensing and three step assembly. The earliest memory I have of my skin being pierced by a hypodermic syringe happened in first year at secondary school. During the summer holidays I had decided that I would experiment with being someone new when I went up to “the big school”. One of the novel character traits I decided to try out for size was bravery. This led me to volunteer to be first when our class was instructed mid-lesson to go and see the nurse for our BCG injection (the Bacillus Calmette–Guérin vaccination). My courage lasted until she instructed me to remove my cardigan and roll up the sleeve of my shirt.

I successfully avoided needles for most of the next two decades (except when I was given no option but to receive a tetanus jab after an incident involving a much-loved cat, a chicken bone and the much-loved cat’s incisor).

It should come as no surprise then, that at the age of twenty-two I successfully sidestepped the offer of a steroid injection during an episode of optic neuritis (inflammation of the optic nerve). The pain I experienced was easily an eight on the pain scale. I, however, declared it to be no more than a four and by doing so avoided having a needle inserted into my eye.

As I was very healthy – barring the incident of optic neuritis that rendered me unilaterally blind for a few months – I was never asked to submit myself to having my blood drawn (and back then I was too slight to donate any, being just over seven stone). This fateful request first came when I was thirty.

I am quite sure the nurse tasked with the appropriation of a small vial of my blood did not believe my claim that this was my first time as I imagine she could not envision anyone would have been able to dodge such a routine medical procedure for three decades. I am equally certain she wished she had not had been given the assignment.
I neither fainted nor squealed but I held up the proceedings with the beginnings of some now perfected delaying tactics. I also made it quite clear that the sensation the nurse had advertised as a small scratch was nothing of the sort. I was then, and sadly I continue to be, high maintenance for practitioners of phlebotomy. The fact I have low blood pressure does not help. Neither does the practice my veins have adopted of rolling away from any sharp instrument that attempts to seek them out. It seems my blood would prefer to stay put.

On advice, I now drink pints of water for days before any planned blood draw, which generally, but not always, makes the process easier on everyone.

I feel compelled to mention that I have yet to faint or squeal. Each time I am obliged to encounter a hypodermic syringe, my outward appearance is calm – like the duck who moves smoothly with grace and speed on the still surface of a pond whilst carefully eluding the hungry hunting party of piranhas below. This may well be the reason my piteous plea that a child’s needle be used is met with surprise and, at times, consternation.