If there's one thing that drives me absolutely insane, it's blood (and peanut butter-but that's another topic **See September's post under "2008" <-----). I don't care if it's a drop, pint, gallon, sprinkle, dot, smear...Grrrrr-OOOOOOOOss! Don't get me wrong I can roll up my sleeves and muck around in spit, vomit, urine, etc, just not blood.
I had the pleasure of visiting the local friendly phlebotomist this morning, all I can say is that it was a horrible idea. I skipped breakfast this morning fully expecting to throw it all up during the phlebotomy.
When I entered the cold sterile room I began to feel queasy from the scent of antiseptic. The sadist, I mean technician, tied the noose around my arm and matter-of-factly said, "Don't tense up, your blood vessels shrink when you do." I seriously had no clue I was even doing this.
I can't even look at the process. The whole concept and process grosses me out. Especially when I hear the blood squirting into the tube (yes, I can hear this). Then it started. I felt my mouth producing more saliva and my stomach producing phantom chunks. She pierced the skin and said, "Shoot, it's coming out really slowly, oh well, I hope you're patient." I nodded while trying to slow my heart rate down and desalivate myself.
It seemed like hours. She turned to me and said, "My gosh, are you okay? Are you going to make it?" Trying to be tough I said, "Oh sure." I started getting anxious and got light headed when she chirped, "Almost done." I felt the chunks rise and thought of apologizes I could say when I threw up. Should I tell her? Is there enough time to get up? What if I faint and they have to drag my body across the unsanitary floor? What if they call my fiance? Does he even have his phone? Did I give him the address?
My eyes started involuntary crossing. I said, "Okay," and preceded to stand up before I passed out. She said those two words I'd waiting so long to hear, "All done."
When I got home, I called my fiance. He added his own two words of comfort: "Drama Queen."
I had the pleasure of visiting the local friendly phlebotomist this morning, all I can say is that it was a horrible idea. I skipped breakfast this morning fully expecting to throw it all up during the phlebotomy.
When I entered the cold sterile room I began to feel queasy from the scent of antiseptic. The sadist, I mean technician, tied the noose around my arm and matter-of-factly said, "Don't tense up, your blood vessels shrink when you do." I seriously had no clue I was even doing this.
I can't even look at the process. The whole concept and process grosses me out. Especially when I hear the blood squirting into the tube (yes, I can hear this). Then it started. I felt my mouth producing more saliva and my stomach producing phantom chunks. She pierced the skin and said, "Shoot, it's coming out really slowly, oh well, I hope you're patient." I nodded while trying to slow my heart rate down and desalivate myself.
It seemed like hours. She turned to me and said, "My gosh, are you okay? Are you going to make it?" Trying to be tough I said, "Oh sure." I started getting anxious and got light headed when she chirped, "Almost done." I felt the chunks rise and thought of apologizes I could say when I threw up. Should I tell her? Is there enough time to get up? What if I faint and they have to drag my body across the unsanitary floor? What if they call my fiance? Does he even have his phone? Did I give him the address?
My eyes started involuntary crossing. I said, "Okay," and preceded to stand up before I passed out. She said those two words I'd waiting so long to hear, "All done."
When I got home, I called my fiance. He added his own two words of comfort: "Drama Queen."
