Blood draws
I love horror movies. Big time. In fact, they are my comfort zone; anytime I feel weird, guilty, lonely, out of place - whatever - I put in my DVD player some eerie and odd Asian ghost story, or some cliché bloody slasher flick, and I feel all cozy and warm. It’s my mental home, sweet home.
But when it comes to seeing a little bit of blood in real life, I get worse as time passes. Every time I have to draw blood (or I’m simply with someone who’s going through it!), the Phlebotomist (cute word I’ve learned today!) thinks I’m about to pass out. I look elsewhere, make the funniest faces, shut my eyes and lips tight, and tell him/her not to worry, that I’m a bit pale but won’t faint.
Yesterday was supposed to be my 1st of 7 blood draws I’ll be doing for half a year. I’ve said “supposed”, because the guy couldn’t find my vein. He stuck the needle in one arm, then in the other, and as he offered to stick it on top of my hand or on my wrist, I said no f*cking way! (Not in so many words, of course.) Today I drank tons of water (he said it would help) and went again; then it worked! When he was almost done, he asked me if I could look at the needle in my arm without fainting - he needed me to memorize exactly where the vein was. Sure I looked… but I wasn’t too happy about it. Just remembering it gives me the chills.
I better go and re-watch some Friday the 13th, and get some less upsetting images in my mind.