Operation Pincushion
So, I went to the girly doctor yesterday. And lord knows how much I just -love- laying on that cold table with my feet in stirrups while a stranger inspects my delicate bits.
*cough*
Oh, yeah, there are guys reading this. Sorry fellas.
Moving on…
She decreed that not only did I need to get the annual boobie inspection taken care of, but she’d also like to have a vampire suck some blood out of me for various tests.
Can I just state for the record that I absolutely hate having blood drawn? I used to donate blood (until I lost too much weight and got all anemic like, bah) and would always be the one sitting there with tears streaming down her face the entire time because it hurts so damn much. But I did it, as often as they would let me. I have craptacular veins kids, the kind that do a little dance and try to avoid being poked. I usually end up with glorious bruising to boot.
So when she informed me that I needed all this blood work done, naturally I gave her a good dose of the hairy eyeball. And silently wished her uterus would fall out. But being a very polite person, I merely smiled and said, “Okay, great!”
So after fasting, and skipping my morning coffee (!!!!!!!) I trudged my happy ass over to the vampire’s lair. A very nice gentleman brought me in the back and reviewed the orders from the doctor. He studied both arms very carefully and finally agreed with me that, yes, the left arm is the better one to poke. I told him that I was a lousy stick and that I would try not to cry, but no guarantees.
He handed me some gauze and said, “Here, for the tears,” with a snarky smile on his face. He was actually rather amusing. And seemed somewhat bemused at my fear of needles.
“Okay, this is going to hurt, don’t move!”
I waited. And waited. And finally looked down at my arm. The needle was in and I never felt a thing. Never felt a thing. That is a first in 40 years of being poked and prodded.
God bless that man, I think I’m in love.