Subdural Hemotoma

The morale of the story is if you get a bad feeling when you see the person who is going to draw your blood grab your paperwork and beat it on out of there. Except I couldn't, of course, since I had waited until the very last minute. I'm famous for that. I even tried to reschedule the doctor's appointment but waiting 4 months wasn't possible. So I offered up my arm and hoped for the best.

Bad idea.

I am not good at needles. And for you smart asses who'd point smirkingly at my multiple tattoos it is most definately not the same thing. So I have my little ritual down, my own little Miranda speech all the women (and in my experience they are all women) approaching me with a needle get to hear. I have to lie down and they have to use a butterfly needle in the left arm. Yet somehow, though I offer this as much for their sake as my own, it amazes me how often I get the brushoff-"Oh honey, nobody likes it."

No really. I have 2 autoimmune disorders that require near constant monitoring of my blood, I've kind of gotten the hang of it. You might laugh hearing it but I have actually gotten much better at it than I used to be. I now have a teeny tiny bit of bravery, like 2 minutes worth. If I have to wait too long, get a glimpse of something I shouldn't or if, God forbid, you don't get it the first time, I'll be gone-no longer able to be recalled by Mission Control. And what's with the wiggling the needle once you're in? I don't mean to tell you your business but if you don't get it on the first try I think you need to pull out and try again. And for pete's sake don't talk to me about what a difficult stick I am or what a mess you're making while things are ongoing. There's a reason I'm looking away ladies, come on, work with me here. Those are the times I leave with my arm black and blue, like a farsighted junkie.

I don't ask for much-listen to my speech with respect, find that little bastard vein and get me on my way.