There’s something I find even scarier than Halloween. Blood.
Red, thick, oozing, warm – there’s something about it that makes me feel weak. And queasy. And then my brain goes fuzzy…and…
Okay, I’m back. I am grateful for my blood. It keeps me warm and pink and – alive – which is a good thing. Usually our blood is kept nicely hidden, concealed in veins, arteries, and capillaries where I don’t need to think about it. It’s when it comes out of those places that I have a problem.
Maybe it’s not the blood I dislike but those sharp things used to take it from me.
Why do I hate needles so much? Blood tests don’t really hurt. It must be the sensation of the tourniquet, the fist squeezing, the vein locating, the disinfecting…
Oh no. Deep breaths. Head down. Head between the knees. I can’t bend that far!
I’ve tried thinking positive thoughts. Once I made it halfway through the test, sitting in a plastic lab chair with my arm outstretched. Then everything went gray. Suddenly the black, skid-proof mat on the floor looked awfully comfortable.
Now I don’t even try to be brave. I walk straight into the clinic and announce, “I need to lie down.” As soon as the technician comes into the room with her tray of evil equipment, I look the other way and start singing Amazing Grace.
My brilliant brother-in-law, the PhD, has the same problem I do. He was told that it was due to a medical condition affecting individuals of higher intelligence. Yup, that must be it.
If you don’t have a problem with blood and needles, I hope you know how lucky you are. Please donate regularly. To those who share my aversion to blood, may I suggest learning the words to Amazing Grace?
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